A Stab in the Dark
by Sparkly-elf
Summary: Jerusalem is dangerous, her husband warned her. But she thought she was strong, independent, and she soon found out how terribly wrong she could be.
1. A Stab in the Dark

**_Author's notes:_** Okay, I'm a little shakey on the details because I haven't gotten far in the game, and I'm pretty sure Altair doesn't have a potential love interest. Meh, not really a Mary-Sue, but you can think what ever the hell you want. I'm just here to write.

YES, the robed man IS Altair, in case people don't really pick up on that. Rated M for sexual scenes and a slight bit of Non/Con, but no actual sex.

Please don't hate me if I kinda made Altair seem like a bit of an asshole, but in case most of you haven't noticed, he's pretty much an arrogant, self absorbed prick for most of the game, oooh don't you just love him!!

Set in Jerusalem at night, and follow the story of my own, now nameless character.

**_Stab in the Dark_**

I should have known better than to walk the streets of Jerusalem at night. The warm air was playing at my face, whipping dust at my feet, but I wasn't focused on such trivial things, I was trying to walk the streets without coming to harm.

Foolish woman, I cursed myself, how dare I defy my husband's wishes of staying at home.

The narrow, dark streets were near deserted aside from the shapeless, eerie shadows casting themselves upon my sight, rushing up the hairs on the back of my neck. I brushed past an empty food stand, closed for the night, hearing the murmur of men's voices just ahead.

Plastering myself against the wall, I prayed for a Templar, a guard, _anything_ just to feel safe. Peeking around the corner, a group of men stood, arguing amongst themselves, and I vaguely thought of passing them before one of the broader ones drew his blade, and the rest of them began to draw weapons.

I flinched and ran to the right side, down a dark, vague alley way, my jaw tightened in fear when I heard the pained howls of men.

My husband warned me of this. He said the streets of the common people were far too dangerous for a woman like me, his _dainty_ little flower. But I thought I was strong, I was an independent woman, who could walk the streets with her head held high, but it appears I was sorely mistaken.

No! I must not be swayed by brawling men! I will be strong!

I slowed down, walking again, no longer hearing the sounds of gasping and pained groans, and turning down another, longer alley littered with old baskets and paper and discarded lumber. My stomach churned, but I paid it no heed, reminding myself to be strong.

But how could I? I was lost, the streets were full of danger, my husband would surely berate me for venturing outside, and the seedy men peering out from behind the buildings did nothing for my confidence.

I swore under my breath, hoping, praying to God for some sort of help. My hand reached up to pull at my crop of mousy hair, it was unkempt, and I'm sure my husband would have something to say about that as well.

My foot glanced off a wooden plank, I tripped and stumbled, dislodging it from the wall and it came down with a clatter, jolting the night's silence. My heart leapt into my throat when a dog's annoyed bark echoed through the alley, I braced myself, but then nothing. God, what a fool of a woman I am to have left home. Damn this night time. Damn these streets.

My mouth was dry as I walked quickly down another alley, endless corridors of stone and decay. It was empty, thank God, and I glanced around, seeing no one behind, and only a wandering scholar in front.

That struck me as rather odd, a scholar out this late at night, and down a deserted alleyway no less. Then again this _was _the lesser part of the city, I supposed even the rich scholars did as they wished. I walked on, watching him with interest. Perhaps he could give me directions?

I could almost… feel the eyes peering at me from beneath the white hood. It was calculating, cold, studying me and my threat value. As his footsteps drew nearer, I cocked my head to the side, unable to look away as he unclasped the armoured belt and red material from his waist and set it behind a rotting wooden crate.

It was rude to stare, even if this behaviour was odd and obviously suspicious, so I tore my eyes from the scholar and continued walking, peering with interest at the wall on my right side, dirty and old and ooh look, blood stains, how interesting! God help me.

More shouts echoed through the alleyways, further away, they were guard's commands and I began to feel at ease. Thank the Lord for guards!

But it obviously wasn't relief for the scholar, who looked quickly over his shoulder at the sounds of the guard's shouts, then growled in annoyance.

He lowered his hood and quickly removed the white robe, revealing ordinary, dark brown clothes underneath. I, a mere three feet away, gasped at his actions. Disrobing in public?

Were scholars supposed to be so… broad? Were they allowed keep their hair that short and cropped? So tanned and dark? So _young_ for that matter? Why was he removing his robes-

But my train of thought was cut short when his eyes locked with mine and his quick, armoured hand darted out in front of me. Armoured?

"Stay there." Commanding. His voice was very cold, and commanding too. And I felt confused, and yet _compelled_ to _obey_. My blood ran cold, feet ceasing movement and my eyes taking in the confusing sight of the scholar, no, the _man_ removing several hidden weapons from his self, hiding them behind the crate and then turning to face me.

And for the love of God, I couldn't move.

That glare. That intense, dark eyed, honey brown glare couldn't have been any colder, any more determined looking. It was as though he was picking me apart piece by piece and rebuilding me in his own way. It was terrifying. Those were the haunted, dead eyes of a cold blooded murderer.

And as I backed away as he swiftly approached me, I thought vaguely if these were the sort of stares a lust-filled rapist has before he takes his victim? A battle hardened hunter has, before he lands the striking blow on his prey? An assassin, gazing down on the kill before they sink their blade into the unbeknown neck?

My back found the wall, heart forcing it's way up my neck as his hard frame sandwiched mine, a roughly cut brick digging painfully into my spine. There was a quiet _shink_ noise, and then I felt the cold, hard steel pressed along my left side. A petrified gasp choked out of me, my small hands reaching up to push him away, but it was obvious I had no chance in throwing him off.

His eyes still sizzled holes into mine, expression so hard to read, mouth set into a hard, determined line until he spoke, a deep growl of a voice. "Play along, or _die_. Make no mistake, I won't hesitate to kill you."

God knows I didn't understand, I was still too panic stricken to even register what he was talking about before the guard's voices grew so near. I heard _kill_, that was all the information I needed. He looked left, then his eyes swivelled right, just catching sight of a guard about to turn down the alleyway.

His rough, dry hand cupped my chin, and before I could even contemplate protesting he pulled my face upwards, and pressed his mouth to mine.

I made a shocked noise in the back of my throat and struggled hard, my hands scrabbling at his darkly robed chest, trying to move my mouth away. He rolled his shoulders forward, lips breaking against mine, his hand forcing my chin to stay with his and the blade digging threateningly into my side, and what could I do but allow him to continue, or die?

I immediately stopped fighting, instead exchanging to staying stock still, and shiver in fear. The hand previously on my chin went down to grasp my waist, none to gently, and a tongue forcing it's way past my lips and teeth into my mouth.

My wide, fear stricken eyes looked right, catching two guards walking briskly towards us, and he was watching them too, despite my current situation he was, in his own way, not even paying attention to me. It was then I understood. He was _hiding. Hiding in plain sight._

They eyed us suspiciously, I myself was trying to ignore the rough pace of the tongue curling in my mouth, coaxing mine into replying.

"You there!" One of the men drew his sword, pointing it at us. "Cease this despicable behaviour at once!"

The man broke away from me, shooting me a threatening look before turning to look over his shoulder at the guards, a sly grin sliding over his face.

"Oh, but good sirs, it is our wedding night." He said, no hint of the previous cold in his voice. "We were eager to get home you see, but in our haste… I'm sure you understand."

The guard sneered. Lowering his sword, he shook his head. The other was eyeing my terrified expression, his hand curling around the hilt of his sword.

"Isn't that right," he continued, the hidden knife against me cutting through the flimsy material of my dress into my skin, his eyes met mine, cold again and even more threatening than before, "_darling_?"

I gulped, my gaze on the guards near me. Hazarding a thought of pleading for help, or snarling in indignation, I cringed when he gripped my side painfully and I tried to smile at them, my eyebrows twitching in pain.

"Y-yes," my voice was shaking horribly, "I'm s-so sorry, sirs. We were… _excited_ to get home."

The grip relaxed on my side. Then surprisingly a thumb massaged, soothing the throbbing pain. Though it could have been because of the guard's critical scrutiny.

Both guards looked to each other, then turned back to the man pressed against me. "Be sure to move on. Such _behaviour_!"

They walked off, joking to one another, occasionally glancing back and shaking their heads. What went on in Jerusalem at night to make the guards just ignore situations like _this_, I didn't want to know.

His mouth was beside my ear, hand pulling my hips forward into his. "Not a _sound_. Look left."

I did as asked without even thinking, and looked left. A group of men talked in hushed voices at the end of the alley, one of them glanced back at us, but paid no attention. I gulped, logic proving that they would ignore us if we stayed, but if we moved they may cause a dangerous situation. The best way to stay alive, would be to pretend that we couldn't see them.

So I had to stay put, and keep up this pretending game. I gulped again.

"That's right." He growled, low and dangerous. "So no struggling. Or I'll leave you to them. And believe me," his eyes met mine again, making the breath catch painfully in my chest, "they'll do much worse to you than I will."

And so it continued, and I only realised how cold it felt until his mouth was against mine again, and it was warm. I whimpered, thinking of my husband, and how horrible this whole situation was, how foolish I was to leave and venture into town without my dotting partner. I must have the worst luck in the Holy Land, and now what's worse is that I'm sinning, without my consent. Even as it continued, mouth against mine, a tongue rolling against mine, I was already praying for forgiveness. Would my husband… beat me, if he saw me like this? Yes, he would, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.

He tilted his head, for a better angle, I could feel his fingers curling in the material of my dress, the deep breaths he took through his nose brushed lightly against my cheeks and he stopped being so rough. Suddenly, it seemed to change. The lips against mine were no longer hard, but soft and decidedly masculine. The tongue in my mouth slowed, and curled softly, yet still managed to maintain it's surge of domination.

And without even thinking I… replied. By breathing sharply in, and curling my tongue with his.

God, how could this have happened? What was I feeling? First terrified and indignant, now… I didn't even know.

Was it him? Was it that air of command and authority that surrounded him, that now surrounded _me_? I couldn't think.

But then, I didn't even want to think.

God, my husband never kissed me like this before, with force and a dominating, warm lead. My husband wasn't as tall, as easy to cling to, being quite small myself. My husband didn't hold me like this, with sure strength and near… _urgency_. My husband didn't smell so… so sharp. Like sweat and work and sand and earth and blood and that wonderfully subtle smell that could only be described as _man_. My husband wasn't so broad, so utterly _masculine_…

Did I… want this? Was I really thinking of committing adultery on my husband? My husband that warned me, that dotted on me, that was arranged to be married to me? This was the first time I ever thought I might just hate him.

Maybe I did hate him, but I digress.

The hand on my waist gripped tighter, but not painfully so, pulling my hips against his. The knife was still against my side, I could feel the slight trickle of blood rolling down my hip, but the pain was long since forgotten. He pushed me further against the wall, with a quick glance, I could see the men still talking in hushed voices at the end of the alley, but it didn't even register. I looked at him, his eyes closed in the darkness, eyelashes brushing against my cheeks.

God, my husband wasn't so handsome either. He wasn't so rugged, so…

Lord forgive me. I ran my hands across a muscled neck, feeling the skin twitch under my fingers, my nails running through messy, dark brown hair. It was short, but incredibly soft, and I loved the feeling of it flicking back upwards between my fingers.

But it wasn't… I was just a distraction, a means of hiding from guards and the people of Jerusalem. I was nothing but a tool, a tool for this man to escape.

And as I felt the anger rise up in my stomach and rush to quell in the top of my head, he broke away, lips barely glancing off mine, and opened his eyes, fixing me in his gaze. The recent bloodthirsty stare was gone, replaced with something different, something warmer, and darker at the same time.

He didn't… he couldn't… _want_ this, could he?

Honey brown eyes darted left as a wizened old scholar walked slowly, his head bowed down towards us. I think, just for a second, he flashed a devilish grin, and hooked his hands around my waist, his usual serious facial grace back in place as usual but lacking it's coldness.

"Make it believable, or so help me I will kill you before you get a chance to run." He growled hotly in my ear before his hands clamped on my legs and pulled me upwards against the wall, hooking my knees around his waist, hips pressed tightly against mine. And as ever, before I could protest he swallowed my noise with another one of _those_ kisses.

My hands scrunched in the canvas material of his robes, a blush settled darkly on my cheeks when I remembered this was not only happening with a man I barely knew, but it was outside, in _public_!

He must have wanted this. Considering the tongue curling eagerly with mine, the hands bracing me against the wall, and the rushed breaths he took through his nose there _had_ to be some sort of want in there. Though I couldn't think, I couldn't move, I could barely _breathe_ with the man pressed so tightly against me we might as well have been one person.

The Devil must be tempting me. He must be testing me, and surely, surely I was failing. This man, I didn't even know his _name_, and yet now I was clinging to him like I would my husband, a gasp passing from my lips when he broke the kiss away, deeply kissing down my jaw, to my heaving throat, that skilled tongue running along one of the twin muscles of my neck.

I wondered if his lips could feel my heartbeat as they kissed deep and hard all the way down to the juncture of my neck and shoulder, teeth occasionally biting, but not hard enough to leave marks, thank God. Through my heavily lidded eyes, I could see the old scholar glance upwards at us, a light blush staining his cheeks.

Even if The Devil was tempting me, there was no way I could escape, there was no way I could break free of this man's grip. He shifted his weight on his feet, I had to choke the sound back behind my teeth when his hips also shifted, but he felt the rumble in my throat and began to make small circles, the closeness of him made sure I could feel the _heat_, the _pressure_. I struggled to hide the noise, my head falling helplessly to his shoulder, hands running down a pair of broadly muscled arms. My hand wasn't even large enough to encircle his bicep, and it was flexing with every movement, something I found particularly exciting.

The poor old scholar was blushing vividly, and the man against me seemed to enjoy the fact that there was someone watching, but it was still continuing. I shut my eyes, not helping the slur of a moan escape completely without my consent as each rotation of his hips became harder, longer.

Not even sex with my husband was this good. And this wasn't even _sex_. My husband was so… selfish and pretended to be gentle, but I found it annoying and pretentious.

I tilted my head back, baring more of my neck to his eager mouth, hearing his bitten-off growls and hisses, his low murmured curses dissipating into harsh, quiet breaths. The scholar rounded the corner finally, but I couldn't help but feel I wanted him to stay, terrified the man against me would leave me here in the night, lost and alone.

His hand left my waist and clapped on my backside, hitching me upwards again until he was pressed so hard against me he might has well have been _inside_ me. Then the grinding turned into something different. Hard, steady thrusting, my back still against the wall. I bit into the material of his robes, trying my best to stay silent. It was hard and desperate, an act that only pointed towards and leaded to _one_ thing.

I whimpered as it got more and more intense. In all my life, nothing had ever felt so _good_. If God was testing me, the Devil was tempting me, then may I rot in hell for this.

But then, I supposed I was beginning to grasp the bigger picture. I had a husband, I had a life, and everything that was happening now would never be worth everything that I could _loose_ because of it.

"N-no." I managed to hiss, digging my nails into his shoulder at a particularly firm rub. "Stop this!"

"They're not gone." He hissed back, his voice strangely controlled compared to his rough breath. "So _you're_ not going yet."

"_Please_!" I gasped out as his hand pushed up the cloth of my dress, teeth scraping off my jaw, then a tongue travelling up to my ear and heatedly tonguing the shell. I shuddered hard. "I'm _m-married_!"

But he didn't seem to care. He simply continued, his free hand grasping my outer thigh, rough hands rasping against my skin in a way that wasn't gentle, but neither painful.

I was shaking, and when I struggled the familiar, and painful threat of the knife against my side forced me to stop. What could I do but give in, even as his free hand travelled up my ribs, his lips still running along the rim of my ear, hips still moving hard against mine?

Part of me longed to know his name, so I could say it.

The travelling hand none-too-gently cupped my breast, and I finally moaned in earnest, jostling the group of men at the end of the alley, but they went back to their conversations, the man against me urging me to be silent.

He was… listening to their conversation?

Oh God, what have I gotten myself into? Smite me, strike me down now, don't let me continue…

I felt the rush of heat pooling in my lower stomach when he pressed his thumb into my nipple, encircling it, pinching it between his skilful, deft hands. And I, shamefully, arching into every touch, biting down into the material of his robes.

I could feel it, the icy cold, unbearably hot feeling of my climax curling down my spine, causing my hips to arch from the wall against his. Suddenly the sound of his hissing and growling seemed to be the most beautiful sounds I ever heard, despite how much he sounds like an animal.

I rarely climaxed with my own husband, and when I did, it was never from the sex. And they were never good either.

But this was raw, and it was coming on strong.

He kept up his pace, fingers massaging my breast, hips grinding mine and teeth and tongue teasing the skin of my neck. I clung to him, arching hard, my legs clasping around his waist as I was pushed _hard_ over that well sought after edge, and hissed in relief as I climaxed.

He knew, I knew he could feel as my whole body tensed for several seconds, then slumped against him, utterly spent.

Nothing had ever felt _so good_.

And he kept going, his honey brown eyes on the men at the end of the alley, but after my orgasm, my over-sensitised body still felt the pleasure of the hips. I continued panting, gasping as he still moved, feeling my eyelids droop as my energy wavered. The fact that he was still moving prolonged my climax, and I couldn't help but twitch in satisfaction as it ended.

The men finished talking, and he slowed down to a stop, pulling his hand from underneath my dress.

I slowly lowered my legs from his waist, but he must have sensed my hesitance to let him go. He took his mouth from my neck, breathing still a little laboured, but he soon controlled it.

I knew how easy it was to throw men into a whirl of lustful passion. My friends and I would often gossip about how easy it was to tease our husbands, so for this man to go from frantic, desperate lust to nothing in no time at all was _inhuman_.

Bastard, no one should have that much control.

He was simply using me to spy, to avoid guards. I just… committed adultery on my husband for the mere fact that I was a convenience.

And that stung my pride.

He walked to retrieve his clothes from behind the crate, I saw with a quick glance that the knife pressed against my side slid back into his left wrist, concealed by a brown leather brace and armour. His ring finger was missing. Who… _what_ was this man?

I watched, dazed, my anger growing, my legs wobbling, as he re-adjusted himself into his clothes, once again taking on the guise of some sort of sword wielding scholar, but I knew better than that.

His back was to me, and I marched over, raising my hand, spreading my fingers, and as he turned I slapped him viciously with the back of my hand across the side of his face. He flinched, but did not stumble or fall. He simply glared at me, but I was much too angry to be afraid of that cold stare any longer.

"I'm _married_." I spat at him. "How dare you! How dare-"

"Keep your voice down." He growled quietly, cutting me off. "Hold your tongue!"

"I will not hold my tongue, I am bound to speak!" I snarled. (1)

His movements were swift, calculated, and I was once again pushed against the wall with his hand covering my mouth.

"I _will_ leave you to those men. And after that demonstration you just gave them, I'm sure they could think of _plenty_ of ways to keep you quiet."

I stiffened. His threat was not an idle one, but I couldn't help the anger bubbling up inside me.

His eyes were cold again, but they seemed a little more lenient now, dazed. He was still full of lust, but he had control over it, unlike me. I huffed and he let go. Me, a stupid woman, falling so easily for him it was almost sickening.

He looked down at me from beneath the hood, examining me, then tried to walk away as if it was nothing.

But I, far too needy, too much of a woman refused to let him leave.

"You bastard!" I whispered, still taking heed of his threat. "My soul will rot in hell for this, for _you_!"

"And I will join you." He retorted. "There is no place in heaven for assassins."

His pace was quick, and in my fatigued state I had trouble keeping up.

I stopped him with a hand on his robes, and he grumbled. "What is it?"

How could anyone be so heartless after that? Be so… cold? Murderer indeed!

"Please!" I begged, mindless of my own stupidity, of my own selfishness, of my hatred of my husband and my life and stupid, fanciful emotions towards this dangerous man. "Can I at least know your name, assassin?"

He stilled, eyes calculating from the darkened hood, a shadow cast eerily over his face in the night-time. He simply shook his head, a light smile flashing over his features before running and jumping onto a ledge, those skilled hands easily pulling him up the side of the building until he disappeared over the top, leaving me to the horrors that awaited me in the night.

I was still lost, I was still angry, I was still frightened and completely alone, and now I was cold too. I wandered, my footsteps angrily carrying me away from the scene, my heart and head wistfully thinking back to him, and them hating myself for being so stupid, such a typical woman.

I thought I was strong, independent until tonight. I thought I could take care of myself, but I guess…

I guess I was sorely mistaken.

Now, I hate my husband, and I'm falling for a nameless assassin who molested me in the dark.

And I wished I could have gone further, gone to an Inn with him and just let him take me, but he was too focused on his task, and I was just a tool to help him complete it.

Though, that may not have been the case. As a man approached me, eyes glinting and intent as he stared me down, whispering words so seedy I dare not repeat them, he was taken down swiftly by a white robed man. Stabbed in the neck, and I almost missed it as I turned away in fear, turning back and he was gone again. But I knew, I knew it was him.

I knew it was him, he was watching me until I found somewhere familiar. I looked up, the stars scattered across the sky, and I could see, or at least I hoped I could see the swish of a robe from a roof top, and then it was gone.

Curse me, for being such a wistful, stupid woman.

* * *

**_Author's Notes:_** (1) Yes, I know, blatant line from Othello, but I loved Emilia and I thought it fit rather well.

I dunno, if I have time I might make this into a short chaptered fic. In the meantime though, it will stay as a one-shot.


	2. Summer's End

**_Author's Notes:_** Wow, I'm really surprised how much support this got! Thanks very much! There were some reviews I couldn't reply too, such as **PBandJam,** thank you very much for your positive review, and no, don't worry, it's definetly NOT going to be one of those stories.

**Mint**, thanks to you too! I will continue on with this, but with exams and stuff I may not update often.

**Natesa**, your review was lovely, I'm glad I kept Altair in check!

**Motnur**, thanks soooo much for your kind words, and I just had to blatantly plug my favorite Shakespear in my fanfiction somewhere!

As I said, with exams and study, my updates may not be too often, but thanks to EVERYONE who reviewed, you're all so kind! I just felt compelled to continue once I thought of a reasonable storyline. It won't be anything too heavy, or ass-kicking, my character isn't really the ass-kicking type you see. She's a house wife, pure and simple.

Please bear in mind, these chapters may (and most likely will) contain sexual content and should strictly only be read by over 18's.

This chap however, only has a little 8D.

****

**_Summer's End. _**

The next week for me had almost been _too_ hard.

My duties as my husband's doting wife were cooking, cleaning our spacious house, sewing and washing clothes, collecting water from the well, and of course, abiding to my husbands wishes. At first, I went along with it, after all, every woman should. I was the wife to my husband, my duties to him were clear. But lately…

Something had been stirred within me, I think.

Perhaps, I realised just how much I hate my husband.

Our arranged marriage was quite the affair. Much more money was spent than I ever expected to dream of from my parents, and it gave us a beautiful wedding. At the time, I convinced myself I would grow to love this man I was forced to call my husband, and after a year and a half, I did just that. I convinced myself.

I swore under God, to love this man in everything he was. And God… God I tried. I tried so hard.

And now I have a house, in one of the richer parts of Jerusalem, my husband being decidedly well-off. Myself, my husband, and a faithful canine called Adham, thanks to his dark ebony fur.

And my husband… he… _does_ dote on me. He says he loves me, and sometimes I believe him. He treats me like any man would be expected to treat his wife. He puts the clothes on my back, and money on the table, and I take care of him, the house and the food. My husband is in charge of the trade routes of Jerusalem, and though he tells me nothing of his work, I suspect he is of ill deed.

Men, ragged and desperate looking constantly show up at our doorstep, pleading to see my husband, and urging to speak alone with him. When I ask of him their intentions, he slaps me hard and tells me nothing. So I do not persist.

I worry. God, do I worry. I sometimes lay awake at night praying I stay safe, and no harm will come to me, my husband, or my family. But when men hammer down your door and demand your husband see them… I'm sure you can feel my worry too. But I kept quiet, as any wife would.

However, lately, it has been harder and harder to pretend everything is alright. I came home ragged, bleeding, bemused and ruffled from _that night_. My husband, worried sick, slapped me viciously as I returned home and demanded to know what became of me.

Lord forgive me, I lied to him so much I fear my tongue would blacken and fall off. I told him I was attacked and escaped with nothing but a cut on my side and a sore back. He slapped me again, hissing and spitting obscenities at me, saying it wouldn't have happened if I just stayed at home, where I was supposed to be. He had a point, I admit, but I never planned this, it just… happened.

I cried, pleading for forgiveness. He stayed stony faced for a good hour and a half before he gave in and cradled me in his lap, sighing, telling me how worried he was.

Guilt wracked at my thoughts then, tears flowing freely. Guilt of leaving him to worry. Guilt of defying him. Guilt of committing adultery with a man I didn't even know. Guilt of looking at him that night and realising how much I really, really don't love him.

I hate his secrets, his lies, his false words, his violence, his temper and his _job_ entailing that I be harassed by shifty men and money grubbing fools. And what I hate most of _all_ is that I am so afraid of him that I obey, without hesitation. Even now, when I have finally come to terms with the fact that I just don't want to _be_ here anymore.

What's worse is, the assassin from that night, I couldn't possibly be rid of my thoughts of him. Curse my hopeful, imaginative mind. My foolish, fanciful female mind. I could remember his face so clearly, so vividly, how every deep shadow blackened across his visage, his deep set eyes completely hidden under darkness as he pulled up his white hood, the curving smoothness of his lips. His smell, his taste, his touch, his growling, arrogant voice.

I couldn't, and shouldn't have him. I was dedicated to one man, and I'm sure I could convince myself to love my husband again, if I ever even loved him to begin with. He was danger, he was forbidden, and how dare _I _of all people go against the wishes and rules of my husband, of God.

No, it will take time, and I will rid myself of that night before I cause myself, my husband some real harm.

Ever since my acceptance of this fact, I have prayed my heart and soul out to God for forgiveness. But I am sure God can feel my insincerity. He knows what I really want, he knows I am sorry, but not truly regretful for what happened. He knows I am sorry… simply because I should be. But I hope God will be… merciful. Perhaps this is his plan for me?

So I sat pensively on the stuffed cushions of the lounge, stroking Adham's fur. My eyes were cast to the night, the rolling stars, the velvet sky, cloudless, typical of a late springtime night. My husband was in a good mood today, but that only meant more work for me.

He softly padded into the seating area. I, liking the house better when it is exceptionally clean, refused to let him walk around with his shoes on, or anyone else for that matter. Shoes are for keeping off the dirt of the streets, not for bringing said dirt onto my clean floors. He gently patted Adham's head, who shied away from his touch, and took my hand.

My husband is… not _unattractive_. He is tall, slender, but his posture is awfully lazy. He has ebony hair, cut short and cropped, but usually wore a turban. He looks… just as every normal man would from Jerusalem, thin, dark.

His intentions were easy to read, being married to him for a year and a half, it was blatantly obvious where we were going and what we would be doing. He lead me to the bedroom where we would be "making love" for the night. But I didn't see it that way.

I don't think I _can_ see it that way anymore.

His touch felt clammy and unpleasant. But I did as I always did. I play acted the whole thing, despite how hard it was for me this time. Before, he aroused some soft of excitement within me, but now…

Not once that night did I feel any warmth radiating from the man on top of me. While usually tried my best before, now I just seemed to have lost my sense of love, of what it feels like to have a man with me, holding me. But my husband _didn't hold me_! He held _himself_ poised above, while I was left below, pretending, simply so he would "love" me in return.

It was perfectly natural for the woman to go away unsatisfied, and I had countless nights before. But I have never felt so empty, so shallow, so sickened before in my life.

Since the first night of our marriage, my husband and I have tried for a baby. Unsuccessfully of course, and I cursed myself for being so inept. Perhaps I could not bear children, I thought dismally. And now, as he spilled inside me, I thought vaguely how it was hopeless for me to conceive a child with this man. He hissed my name in my ear, and I had to turn my head away from him, his body draped on mine, heaving chest, sweating skin, and I couldn't have wanted this any less.

I lay awake for hours that night, praying, naked before God and the world and begged the Lord to answer me, tell me what it is I should do. Be rid of my impure thoughts of that white robed assassin. Make me love the man I am married to!

God didn't answer, but that's the whole point, I guess.

* * *

My husband was talking me _out_ today. He said he had… business to attend to. I followed wordlessly behind him and two of his co-workers. They climbed into a horse driven cart, and I clambered in next to them, my long dress catching slightly on my sandals.

It was a hot day, summer peeking through early this year. The air was musty, devoid of draft, and my skin was crying out for either moisture, or cold.

I gazed at my toes as my husband talked quietly with his co-workers. Two cargo hand-managers, both of them ignored me. The cart shook as the horse took off in a trot.

My mind, off in a dreamy state caught only snippets of their conversation. They spoke as if I wasn't there, and I treated it as such. My husband spoke of a courier by the name of Mu'ayyad, who failed to deliver a special crate of something or other, and now must be found.

Part of me didn't want to listen. I knew full well of what my husband was capable of, so if he knew I was listening I would pay dearly. Why _exactly_ did he want me here?

I caught vaguely that we were travelling to Masyaf, to visit more traders and discuss the terms of the missing man and the crate. I've never been to Masyaf before, so needless to say, I was a little excited. It was dampened however, by my husband's slightly agitated expression. Something about the name Masyaf lingered with me, as if I knew something but I couldn't quite remember, so I huffed, willing the confusing feelings away.

My husband said we were near, now chatting freely about other topics with the men, and I looked up to the road nearing, to see a castle looming over in the distance, surrounded by cliffs and steep, dangerous looking hills. There was more of a breeze up here, which I was _eternally_ grateful for and soon the cart rolled into a stable just outside the wooden gates of the small village.

I hopped out, walking past the high, wooden gates behind my husband. He waved off his co-workers, gesturing for them to "_scout_" while he led me towards the castle at the end of the village. I stared around, fascinated with the people in the village, but my main focus was on the castle. It was truly a beautiful piece of architecture, though, as I got nearer, it was more like a fortress than a castle admittedly.

And as my gaze wandered, it instantly dropped to a white robed man standing a few feet away from me. My heart jumped ferociously in my chest and I dared to look twice. Thankfully, it wasn't _him_. He was too small, and his robes were positioned all wrong, but the armour was there, and the sword. I calmed down.

But at first… I could have sworn it…

My husband tugged on my arm, hurrying me forward further towards the fortress and quickly under the stone arch.

Walking under that arch was like stepping into a nightmare.

The men. All of them were like _him_. All dressed the same, in robes of beautiful white, warriors and fighters who crowded around a ring, in which a battle between two took place, their cries echoing around the stone walls. Others talked in hushed voices, watching us beneath their hoods as we walked into their castle.

My head suddenly ached, they all looked the same. My knees wobbled, guilt ridden, wanton memories rushing back in a sickening wave.

But maybe, just maybe _he's_ not here. _He's_ not one of them, _he _couldn't be! Oh Lord, please Lord please don't let _him_ be here! Could this be the assassin fortress so many men feared?

More and more, so many white robed my men my heart felt like it was going to explode in shock. But… none of them were _him_ thankfully.

At least… I haven't seen _him_. Yet, I thought fearfully.

I walked up the slope towards the stain-glass windows, eyes darting at the groups of men all dressed as scholars and monks, and yet like soldiers. My husband striding past, his posture tall and proud, almost defiant.

I broke into a sweat, the feeling of both fear and dread building up in my throat, cursing everything and everyone who could have brought me to this place, where _he_ could be. Of all the places, in all of the Holy Land, why here? Why now? Why ME?

And though my husband's walk was one of pride, he was immediately stopped at the door to the castle, the guards flanking either pillar crossed their swords to the entrance.

"What business do you have with the Grand Master?" The guard on the left asked, his tone crisp and cutting.

My husband, curse him, puffed his chest out, trying to give off some sort of air of superiority over these men. Against so many tall, muscled men, I personally thought he looked the fool.

"_That_ is none of _your_ business." He spat, and I cringed at his lack of respect. "I must speak with Al Mualim at once. It is of the utmost importance!"

Resisting the urge to cover my husband's self-proclaiming mouth with my hand, I stared contentedly at the guard to the right, who raised a dark brow, exchanging a look with his fellow officer. They both nodded.

"Do you have a name, sir?" Asked the one on the left.

My husband frowned. "Mundhir Nidal-Amir, of Jerusalem."

"Good. We were informed of your arrival. Go through." They both let their swords, standing once more at attention as my husband passed, seeming smug with his victory. Unfortunately, they once again bared the door as I tried to walk through. I flinched as the metal of their swords connected in an X, preventing me from following my husband.

"That is my _wife_." My husband sighed. "Allow her passage."

"Is she completely necessary, sir? The Grand Master only gives audience with those who are absolutely needed."

Honestly, I was perfectly happy to stay outside. My husband was glaring at me, as if it was my fault. I tried to speak, to tell him it was alright, to go without me, but he spoke before I had my chance.

"She is the reason I am here." He said. "Let her through!"

Reluctantly, the guards withdrew their swords, and I shakily stepped forward. My husband grabbed my arm, dragging me through the marble hall with him.

God… he didn't _know_, did he? Was _that_ why we were here? Was that why he insisted on bringing _me_ here? I felt close to tears with worry, my heart painfully banging around the inside of my ribcage, reciting old prayers over and over again in my head.

Perhaps God was punishing my ill deed. Perhaps that was what this was for.

I was walked up stone steps to a podium on the opposite side of the hall, where an old man stood behind a desk, tending to an eagle in a giant cage. He let go of my arm, almost flinging me away as he stood in front of the desk, demanding audience with his heavy strides, his proud stance.

But the man was still turned away, wearing robes of the deepest blue, trimmed with white. His hood was up, his old, knarled hands closed the cage door, stance slightly bowed as he turned slowly to face us. His left ring finger was missing, I noticed.

His right eye was blinded, turned a haunting milky white. His face was aged, grey and yet, strong and toned for such an old man. Features were ones that once must have been very handsome, and time aged it gracefully, so now he looked wise, intelligent.

The man's expression did not change when he looked at my husband, eyes darting to me, catching my gaze for just one icy second, the back to the man standing before him. Still he did not change as two guards stood either side of his desk, though I had the suspicion he could easily kill my husband _without_ the aid of guards.

After all, this was the home of the assassins, I mused dismally.

He inclined his head, gesturing for my husband to speak, and folded his arms.

"Al Mualim," he began, "I bring news from Jerusalem about Mu'ayyad and his crate."

The old man said nothing at first, joining the tips of his long fingers together, like a prayer. "Could you not have sent word by air?"

His voice was well spoken, with a thick Arabic accent, and surprisingly deep for a man so old. My husband shook his head. "Not for this."

Al Mualim simply nodded, bowing his head. He reached out to one of the guards beside him. "Send for Altair. Tell him I need a word."

What was going on? I knew my husband's deals were shady, but what could possibly need assassins? What dilemma was it that needed the help of ruthless killers bound to balance the crusades and work behind the scenes? I was so confused, and worried even still about what it was my husband needed. Who was this Mu'ayyad, and what was so important that he had to deliver?

The guard hurried off. Al Mualim turned back to my husband.

"I presume you do not have the crate?" He said gravely.

"No, I-"

"As I thought." With a heavy sigh, he walked behind his desk, into the sunlight casting through the high, gothic window. He looked up, out into the sky, the jagged cliffs worn with time and weather; sunlight was becoming of this man, I thought. He stayed silent for some time, I could see my husband fidgeting in impatience.

"When does anything we do go as planned?" He asked, more so to himself. He sighed again, and turned back to face us.

"This woman," he gestured to me, "what business does she have here?"

His gaze caught mine, and I stiffened, awkwardly bowing curtly in greeting, feeling foolish and unnecessary under his scrutiny.

"She is partly the reason I'm here. My wife," he gestured to me with his open hand, urging me to take it and I did with only a second of confusing hesitation, "was out getting water from the local well in early morning, and was attacked by one of Mu'ayyad's men."

My head snapped upwards as the lie easily slid out of his mouth. Incredulous, I stared, slack jawed and his hand clenched mine for a second, not so much to reassure me as to threaten me to stay silent. How… how _dare_ he!

Though I was slightly relieved, the emotion was overtaken by anger. He dragged me to Masyaf, to fool and old man? He is using me? Me! His wife! As though I were nothing more than a tool for trickery! I cook, I clean, I do everything and anything a good wife should, and now this?

I wouldn't have minded half as much if he warned me before hand, so I could prepare myself.

"Mu'ayyad is fleeing, and both myself and my wife could be in danger!" He said, releasing my hand.

I, shocked, stared worriedly from my husband to Al Mualim, who's expression was impossible to read. The old man was once again silent, his gaze studying me and my husband, and I quickly tried to change my disbelieving face. If the man did not believe my husband, _I_ would be the one to suffer the consequence for messing up. His eyes once again caught mine, and I was trapped with a calculating stare, so much like _his_ that night, but it was reading me, like parchment almost. The white eye was haunting to look at.

"… Do you know Mu'ayyad's whereabouts?" He asked finally, eyes sliding away from me and once again fixing my husband.

"I have a few leads, and most of them say the same."

"Good. I will give you aid of some of my most skilled assassins - ah! Here we are." He gestured to the stairs on the left as another white robed man walked fourth, and my blood ran cold, "This is Altair, a masterful assassin of the Creed."

Al… Altair…?

From the second I looked at him, I lost the ability to breathe. He walked fourth, seemingly in slow motion, and the world came to a screeching halt. My ears were filled with an angry buzzing sound, my jaw fell open, eyes wide and my throat closing up, winding me.

I felt like someone clubbed me, dizzying colour and heat whirling in front of my eyes.

I don't quite know if it was gut wrenching fear, or excitement that was gripping me. Either way, it felt like my heart had escaped my chest and began making it's way back to Jerusalem.

Most of the assassins here looked the same. But there was something about him, the posture, the head movement; it defined the man. Eyes, still hidden under the hood, I could almost _feel_ them scanning the room, and then locking onto Al Mualim as he was addressed.

Lord in heaven, this could _not _be mere coincidence.

"Your leads had better be correct, Mundhir." He said, the slight edge of a threat lacing his words. "Failure is not an option with this man. Altair?" He addressed the man, who stood to attention. "You know of Mu'ayyad, correct? It is on three of _your_ leads that got the information."

"Yes." Came that voice, the one that has been haunting my mind for a week and a half now, still as cold, as heartless, as rugged as I remember.

"His men attacked Mundhir's wife." Al Mualim gestured to me, and I instantly stiffened, feeling the eyes sweep over me for a second, then look back, in sudden realisation.

It would have been slightly comical to see from another perspective as Altair's stance faltered at the sight of me, obviously quite taken-aback. But he covered it well, and pretended like nothing was wrong. I however, could still _feel _the glare from beneath the hood, icy eyes piercing straight into me like a knife. His expression hardened.

I must have looked different that night. Well, truth be told I was a little ragged looking, I tried to look as such to walk the streets without being noticed. I guess, seeing me in my proper clothes, bathed, with washed hair must look _somewhat_ different. But he was still smart enough to recognise.

"Or so he says." Al Mualim continued. "I, personally, don't believe you. Though I do not doubt Mu'ayyad, it is far too early for him to begin attacking people, and your wife would be easily killed. So how was it that she got away, hm?"

My husband spluttered in incredulity. "Why, the nerve of you! She has the cut on her waist and a bruised and beaten back to prove it!"

I blushed vividly when I felt those eyes suddenly sweep over me again, and I looked away, finding my sandaled feet much more interesting. Though I was heavily embarrassed, it only intensified when I knew that _Altair_ knew my husband was lying, because _HE_ made that cut, and my back was bruised from the wall he _pushed_ me up against.

"… Very well. Considering the associations of Mu'ayyad, I will not take any chances this time, where the innocent is involved." He turned to the other guard. "Go and get Bashir and Sofian. Altair, get your blades and other weapons ready. Be back here before the hour is up. Understood?"

Altair nodded and bowed, his gaze sweeping over me before hurriedly leaving, his gait proud, his movements swift and fluid.

Al Mualim then turned back to my husband. "Two of my assassins will follow you and your leads, where one will stay posted at your house to guard. Usually I do not order such posts upon my men, but… under the circumstances… Mu'ayyad is not to be trifled with, and I fear his treachery is only the beginning. The two will make sure you come under no harm. Your wife…" He cast a look at me, I assumed it was one of comfort, "will be safe. I will post Altair with her. If your story is indeed true, and your wife _was_ attacked, they are likely to attack again, and will hold her life to ransom. Mu'ayyad's men will not be merciful with her. But rest assured, Altair _does_ not, and _will_ not fail."

It was a wonder how I didn't faint dead away on the spot. God… God my husband will soon find out about my adultery, I am sure the assassin will tell him, will say something, anything to give me away. Such cruel fate has been laid for me! I looked fearfully at my husband, who was staring at the floor.

His once proud stance was faltering now, his expression creased with worry and agitation. I didn't understand what all this was about, all I knew was that the assassin who was with me that night would be near to me now, and to my husband.

The part of me that would have been thrilled, was horrified that my husband will discover the truth.

So many negative, mixed, swirling emotions were confusing me to the point where only a numb feeling settled in the back of my head, and a sharp pain stabbed at the front. My husband put his hands on the side of Al Mualim's desk, bracing himself, and took a deep, ragged breath.

"Tell me what you want me to do."

The old man stared pointedly at him, looking down his long, crooked nose. "Mundhir, my assassins are loyal to me and me alone. If I find that you are of ill deed, that you are playing games of trickery against the Creed that asked the _simple _task of receiving a package, they are on strict orders to _kill_ you without a moment's thought. Understood?"

* * *

**_Author's notes:_** Thanks for reading. Feel free to drop a line, if you wish. 


	3. Obscene Halo

**Author's notes:** Thank you SSSOOOOOOOO much for all the kind reviews! I really, really appreciate it! And I was wondering, I have a horrible habit to completely miss spelling errors that my spell check refuses to fix, can anyone recomend a good online checker? Like writing of instead of if, I don't do it intentionally, and when I proof read it's easy to miss ya see.

I'm certainly doing this an awful lot faster than I thought I would be, I'm so happy people are enjoying it! Thanks so much!!!

**_Obscene Halo_**

The cart ride home to Jerusalem was unbearably uncomfortable. I hugged myself, my stricken eyes wide at the rumbling wooden floor, wisps of hair blurring my vision in the breeze. My husband's co-workers had not joined us this time.

Daring myself to see him eye to eye, I was surprised to find when I looked up, he too was staring at the floor, absentmindedly playing with his thumb and index finger. I have seen him frightened before, but I've never seen him _this_ apprehensive. His brows were drawn, mouth set in a hard line, shoulders hunched forward and his forehead was creased with worry lines.

I joined my hands together, intertwining my thumbs and praying silently in my head. God, if my husband were to find out that the assassin guarding our house was the one who not only attacked me, but was the one I committed adultery with (regardless of consent), he may just lash out and have me killed.

I could feel bile rising in my throat as I thought of his furious expression, his hateful, seething words, his viciously hard beatings. My husband would never go so far as to seriously injure me, or even beat me for that matter, but with this… I wasn't so sure.

And then, then there was the notion of the other two assassins accompanying him. To where exactly, and for what? Regardless if I loved the man or not, I have lived with him for just over a year and a half, and there was some sort of connection there. Was he… going to be killed?

_If I find that you are of ill deed, that you are playing games of trickery against the Creed that asked the __**simple**__ task of receiving a package, they are on strict orders to __**kill **__you without a moment's thought. Understood?_ I remembered Al Mualim's words, I did not doubt that my husband was a con man, but how did he get himself into such a dangerous situation?

_The Creed that asked the simple task_? Was he approached by them, perhaps threatened? Lord, Mundhir, what have you gotten yourself into?

I reached out a shaking hand, in an effort to comfort him in any way I could. Laying my hand on his, he slowly met my gaze and I smiled sympathetically, but he simply shook his head, and shrugged away my touch. I stiffened.

Finally, we returned home. I removed my shoes, awkwardly stepping into our warm house, Adham's booming bark greeting me as I entered the lounge. I patted his head, hearing my husband trudge up the stone stairs into our bedroom.

Everything seemed dreamy, like it was lost in a haze, and the last few hours barely existed. What happened to make my life change so rapidly?

Is this punishment for defying my husband? It certainly seemed that way.

I sat down, trying to sort my dizzy, seemingly emotionless head out. My husband soon returned with a sheep-skin bag, possibly of clothes and other items for travel. He avoided my gaze, shakily setting the bag on the floor.

He was leaving.

Oh God, what for? Was he in danger? Was _I_ in danger? For how long would he be away? How would I cope here without him? What was all this about?

"M-Mundhir…?" He looked up at me, eyes full of doubt and worry, mine much the same.

I was about to ask him, plead with him to tell me of his absence, but as always I was interrupted, this time by a hard knock on the front door. He wordlessly left to answer it, and I was left in the lounge, staring around, as if this house was alien to me.

The gruff murmur of men's voices followed. I shuddered violently as my husband, along with three white-robed assassins entered the room and I forced my eyes to find purchase in the floor. My heart was thudding wildly in my chest, Adham jumped off his cushion, protectively growling by my side. I grabbed a handful of his black fur, trying to pull him back to restrain him, but he is too large a dog for my small hands, and continued to snarl and the unknown men.

The one on the far left, the tall, broader one of the three ignored the dog, the other two however stared incredulously at him.

My husband guided them out into the kitchen, my heart speeding up fiercely as the taller one brushed past me, the familiar scent rushing over me in a wave. My eyes slid shut, for just a second.

My husband closed the thin wooden doors, though he did not tell me to leave, so I stayed put, stroking Adham's fur in an effort to calm him. The dog nuzzled into my touch, pressing his wet nose against my thigh. Just one of the little things that makes me smile.

I got up silently and pressed my ear against the door, trying to decipher the murmur of voices, but they were still speaking low, and I pressed harder in frustration. The dog whined for attention, startling me and I hushed him quickly, my brows knitting together in concentration. I didn't catch a word.

They stopped talking, forcing me to dart back to my seat just as my husband pushed open the doors and, without even looking at me, grabbed his bag, his expression grave. The assassins stayed in the kitchen.

I reached out to him before he could go back. "Mundhir, wait."

He turned to me, my husband, full of worry, his brow sweating, his skin pale. I've only ever seen him look like this once or twice before, and it always meant something unpleasant would soon rear it's ugly head and bang down my door. My hand was on his arm, he felt cold to the touch.

"Please," I said, my voice a bare whisper, "tell me what is going on."

His chestnut eyes slid to the floor, eyes darting back and fourth as if searching the tiles for the right answer. Then he looked up at me, trying to look sympathetic. "Don't worry, my darling. Everything… will be alright. I have to travel with two of those assassins. Another will stay here, so you…"

But he trailed off, and I understood. I was in danger, was what he was trying to say.

However, I, too worried and too fearful and frustrated with today's events would not take that as an answer.

"Mundhir! Please, tell me! I worry myself sick over this! For how long will you be gone, to where? And God, Mundhir, why?" I cried, pleading with him for a decent answer, my voice high and verging on tears.

How dare I talk to him in such a manner, but this situation was far too important for me to stay docile and calm. I watched the flush slowly rise in his cheeks. He was angry with me, with everything really. "I can't tell you. And I don't know for how long, but by God woman stay your tongue! This is far too dangerous for you."

I was rather tired of that. I was always confused, always out of the loop, playing guessing games with him and his activities in his work. I was sick of it, he treated me as if I could not comprehend the matter. Though I may be a woman, I was _no_ fool, and keeping me in the dark served no purpose other than to confuse and worry me!

"Why not?" I pose. "Must I always be kept in the dark? What have you _done_ to bring murderers into our house? Why must you leave, with that look of death on your face?!"

I knew I over-stepped my mark by questioning him and this _very_ delicate situation and he bared his teeth in a snarl, warning me.

But I, worried and horrified by my own actions and driven by fear and anger stood my ground.

"Be quiet woman!" He hissed, trying to hush me, but that only served to pushed me further. I stamped my foot on the cool, hard tiles, hurting my heel.

"Mundhir-"

He cut me off, his hand connecting sharply with the right side of my face with such force I was thrown backwards onto the cushions. Adham jumped at the noise and barked loudly at my husband, who's face was reddening in rage.

"Not like this." He hissed. "Don't make me leave like this."

My right eyes stung and watered, I tasted copper in my mouth. Raising a hand to my lip, I felt the moist, tell-tale sign of blood; I had bitten my lip when he hit me.

Right… I should… I should have known better than to question him in such a way. I should have stayed quiet when he asked me to. I was shaking, still shocked and afraid that he struck me, but I soon calmed, and my husband was back in the kitchen.

If he dies… I'll be completely alone. I can't make it in this life as a widow. Who will bring in the money, who could possibly take care of a useless woman like myself? I couldn't go back home, my parents wouldn't allow it.

What about the house? What about the food? What about the debt collectors? Or his family? His job? His _wife_?

I hastily wiped the blood away on the sleeve of my dress, Adham whimpering beside me in fright. I hugged him tightly around the neck and he settled. My lip stung, my right cheekbone ached and throbbed, but I suppose it was my own fault. I should have held my tongue.

I don't… I don't think I'll miss him when he leaves. Perhaps this time apart will help… sort me out. But then it might just make me feel worse, with the presence of that assassin here, the one from the other night no less.

He returned, his bag swung over his shoulder, the two assassins following behind him. Taking my arm, he caught my gaze and I noticed his eyes were bloodshot, his face gaunt and pale.

"I don't know when I will be back…" He said, chestnut eyes locking with mine. "But I will be back, I promise you. Take… take care."

He embraced me, entwining his arms around my shoulders. Shaking, he kissed the top of my head, burying his nose into my hair.

"I… I love you. Remember that." He whispered.

I wished, for once I could just tell him I loved him back, but I couldn't bring myself to say it. I can't keep lying. So instead I simply returned the embrace, and he soon let go, smiling solemnly before he left the room after patting Adham on the head.

I flinched when the door shut, hugging my arms tightly around me.

And then, well, I just didn't quite know what to do with myself. I think I stood there for a good five minutes staring at the embroidery of the rug on the floor. It was so silent… so blessedly silent.

But I remembered I wasn't quite alone.

A shudder passed over me, and I peered into the kitchen, terrified of what I might find. How uncomfortable was this going to be for me, for _him_?

Altair…?

The kitchen was empty.

Straining my ears, the only noise I could hear was Adham's deep breathing, the gentle chatter of the town below the hill which the row of houses on my street is situated, and the rustling of cloth as the tattered curtain billowed with the breeze from the window.

I gulped, an extreme sense of foreboding passing over me like cold water on my skin. Hastily, I ran through the downstairs rooms, out the back around the wall where I keep the buckets and stone basin for water, but still nothing.

How… odd. Biting my nails, I near _ran_ back through the lounge and up the stairs to the bedroom, but found it empty, like all the other rooms in the house.

Slowly, I made my way back downstairs, befuddled as to the whereabouts of the man, and ran a hand through my hair, trying to detangle some of the knots that worked their way into the wavy strands. I cringed, thinking vaguely that he might be behind me, a flurry of frightening images racing through my head.

I sighed. This was going to be a _long_, long day.

* * *

It was night, and still no sign of the assassin. Perhaps he was avoiding me? I couldn't blame him, this was _quite_ the predicament. Maybe he's afraid I'll shout at him, or ask him awkward questions, or…

Wait… how could _**I** possibly_ strike fear into a man like _that_?

Or perhaps he found something more interesting to do.

That _irked_ me. And I can't quite figure out why. Maybe it's because I…

Then again, it's not like he's been doing his job from the start, no one can get bored _that_ quickly. I've been alone in the house all day, when I went into town to get water from the well, I was alone then too. When I went back into town to pick up some fruit, I was still alone. Having an argument with the trader about the price, yes, still alone.

Why was it bothering me again? I huffed.

God, I was so _bored_. Without my husband being here, I've managed to get everything done in half a day, where as any other time it might take me one, or even two days to get everything done. I cleaned the house from top to bottom, I cured the meat, I got copious amounts of water, I bathed, I darned an old dress of mine, I washed all the material in the house, which took no time at all to dry in the sun. And now I just don't know what to do with myself.

So, I took some well needed rest on my favourite pile of cushions in the lounge, and talked to God by candlelight. My mother recommended doing this regularly, and I find it very calming, soothing for the soul.

God always listens, and doesn't pry or pinch at you.

But then, God can't talk back either, so it _does _have it's down sides, but it feels nice to vent once and a while.

I prayed for safety, I prayed for my husband, for everything really. And I repented, as I always did.

My musings were interrupted by Adham, who tweaked an ear and rose off the cushions, padding softly outside to the back, his claws tapping against the tiles. I kept a sharp eye on him, my neighbours hated the dog, and got very irritated with even the slightest growl from him. And at this time at night, I doubt they would take too kindly to him outside.

No sooner had I relaxed, than Adham's booming snarl shocked me from my prayers and I rushed outside to calm him, nearly breaking my ankle in the dark on my way out the back.

The dog looked livid, his gnashing teeth bared, eyes wide with fury and fur reared back. Wondering what got him into such a state, I pulled him back about the neck from the wall he was barking at, trying to restrain him. But Adham was a relatively large dog, the arch of his back was to my hip, and he was far too strong for me.

"Shh, Adham, enough! Shh!" I hissed, terrified my neighbours would come out and start swearing at me again, but the dog continued to bark, eyes wide at the roof and growling.

What could have made him so furious?

Fortunately, there is a special place at the nape of the dog's neck when, if pulled, easily calms him. I locked my fingers around the convulsing, yapping throat and pulled lightly, rhythmically on the fur, and the dog soon calmed, nuzzling into my touch. I hushed his whimpering, snarl still set at the roof of the house, ears back, cautious. He stood protectively by my side. I looked up to see what set him off.

And sure enough, _there_ was the missing assassin. He was hunched on his knees, almost like a coiled cat ready to strike, the moonlight against his back like a most _obscene_ halo.

Covered completely in darkness, all I saw was the silhouette, the glint of his eyes as he looked down at me from beneath his hood, studying me. I squinted in the darkness, my body unusually still, and his poised, leaning on the roof as though it were his throne.

My God, even in complete darkness he looks a vision. Like an ethereal being, some celestial wonder, from fairytales and folklore the old man in the village would entertain me and my brothers and sisters with. The moonlight shone brightly white against his robes, glinting off the armour where the light struck, stars that were glittering candles caressing his broad frame.

But he is no knight, and I am no princess. He is more like an angel. An angel with blood red wings of death and the knives to prove it. Or a bird of prey, with talons coated in flesh and curdling screams, repressed and choked cries. A snake, staring down it's prey, inching towards it ever closer and baring fangs filled with venom. A cat, slinking in the night, stalking almost.

What was he thinking about…? So much I didn't know…

I petted Adham, forcing him to stop his vicious glare, letting him know the man on the roof was not his foe.

Must we always meet in the dark? That night had long since haunted me, invaded my thoughts, my dreams. My stupid, wistful mind of a woman dreaming of a lover such as he, pathetic wishes, hope wasted on the hopeless.

But I couldn't help but smile, like he did when I asked for his name. It was only slight, but I still saw it. _I know I saw it_.

I knew it now, anyway.

Taking a hold of the fur around Adham's neck, I pulled him back towards the house, slowly as it was difficult to coax him to move.

"I'm sorry about the dog, _Altair_." I purposely accentuated his name, letting him know I knew it now, and savoured the feeling of it rolling out of my mouth in my thick Jerusalem accent. Such acts should be classified as _sin_, and I knew I would be repenting for this tonight before I finally slept. But for once I didn't care.

Perhaps it was just me imagining things, but I would swear he was smiling, amused at my efforts to force the large canine back into the house. Finally, Adham was safely back in the lounge, curling up on a stuffy cushion. I resisted the urge to go back outside, just to look at him, but I had a feeling he would be gone if I did, so I chose to go to bed instead.

And as I curled up under my pretty patchwork quilt, I prayed and prayed until I fell asleep, my last prayer was one to keep Altair safe as well.

Then another, asking God for forgiveness, pleading for him to not let me fall in love with such a dangerous man.

* * *

The next morning, I awoke at dawn as I always did, but decided to stay in bed to give myself a rest. Nothing needed doing, nothing special today. Perhaps I would go down to the well to chat with some of the women from the city, but that could wait until later.

I rolled over, half expecting to see my husband beside me, but then remembering the events of yesterday.

My heart fell. My right cheek was still sore.

I got up a few short hours after sunrise and padded downstairs, Adham greeting me as I walked into the kitchen, his tail wagging and scratching at the side of the door to be allowed outside. I took heed, opening the door for him and looking out at the sky. It was cloudless, a warm morning. I opened the windows too.

The fruit from yesterday was not quite ripe yet, I made a face at the bitter taste of my apple, but ate it anyway.

"Morning."

I jumped and dropped my fruit, clutching my heart. The bitter juice stuck in my throat and I coughed in surprise, turning wildly to find the source of the voice.

A thick stream of swear words in Arabic flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. In my surprise, I clamped my hands over my mouth to stop the torrent of obscenities, still coughing. How… er, _graceful_.

"I'm so sorry! _Lord_, you scared me half to death, Altair!" How was _that_ for a greeting?

He shook his hooded head. "… My apologies."

Though he didn't _sound_ sincere. Then again, his voice was quiet with the merest hint of a growl, so I couldn't really tell. He was smirking, obviously at the fact I was still coughing to force the apple still lodged in my throat. I finally cleared it, and stared pointedly at him.

"How did you get in without me seeing you?"

"The window, you had your back turned." He shrugged. I rose a brow.

His robes were the same as always, a beautiful white, and I felt slightly self conscious in my sleeping dress, my hair knotted and my eyes swollen from sleep. He was wearing his shoes. _In_ the house. My eyebrow twitched. Should I say something? God yes, I spent half the day yesterday cleaning the floors.

"Sorry, this is going to sound awful but please don't wear your shoes inside the house." I tried to sound nice, not too fond of the idea of a blade against my neck for disrespecting him, but this was _my_ house dammit! Surprisingly enough, he nodded.

"I won't in future then."

Retrieving my apple, I put it in a bowl of water on the table for a second and shook it off, ridding it of the dirt it may have collected on the floor. I took another bite.

"So," I said, through my mouthful of apple, "is something wrong?"

"No, I just need to make my duties clear." He said, stance still stiff and tense, but it's not like _I_ was going to attack him. Perhaps he was guarded like that. "I am to protect you until your husband returns, so I will need to know when you venture into town, where you buy your food, when you eat, when you sleep. If you are in danger of being attacked, it could come from anyone, anywhere. Clear?"

"I see…" I swallowed my piece of fruit. "Should I tell you before I go to town, then?"

He approved. I wondered… what sort of things I could say to him. This was… quite the odd relationship. Should I respect him like a man, like a friend, or not respect him at all? After all, he did molest me, even if I _did_ want it in the end. Lord, decisions, decisions! I decided to test the water.

"You knew my husband was lying to your master…. Did you tell him?"

He paused for a moment, eyes catching with mine for a second, the familiar glimmer of honey brown making my knees wobble, until he looked away. "No."

"Why?" The question came out of my mouth before I could stop it.

"It wouldn't have been… prudent, considering the circumstances as to _why_ I knew he was lying. It wouldn't have made any difference anyway. Mu'ayyad betrayed the Creed, that is all that matters."

I blushed fiercely and looked at the floor, my apple forgotten in my hand. "I'm… I'm so sorry."

And what I was apologising for, I just didn't know. Perhaps I was apologising for this whole mess, even if it was coincidental. Than again…

… Nothing is coincidence. But it wasn't fate, I wasn't ready to think like that just yet.

He said nothing, and it was obvious to both of us how tense the room suddenly got. I stiffened, half expecting him to turn around and hit me, but he stayed still, his head bowed, expression impossible to read as his eyes were covered by the white of his hood.

"What about food, water?" I asked, gesturing to him with my half eaten apple, trying to will the tension down. "Where will you sleep?"

Then I thought for a second, and held up a hand to silence him. "You are welcome to eat here if you like, after all, you are the one protecting me, it's the least I can do."

That heavy, intense stare caught mine again, eyes sliding easily over my features until fixing on the bruise on my cheek. He was standing at least five feet away, but it felt like there was barely any proximity between us at all. His lip quirked.

God, he looked incredibly handsome.

"You are kind. I will sleep on the roof between hours. If you need me, that's where I will be."

I smiled. That was a better answer than I thought I was going to get. Perhaps this will be alright after all. In much better spirits, I turned to fix the curtains at the window instead of fidgeting in an agitated fashion. _If you need me…_

That made me smile too. I was almost amused with the thought of him running to my beck and call, but of course I would never do such a thing. I was the woman, not him. My husband made full use of that fact.

"You can take the fruit on the table, if you're hungry." I said, fixing the curtain into the rope against the window frame, the light breeze ruffling my hair. "Altair…?"

But as I turned, he was gone, and an apple was missing.

The _cheek_!

But I smiled anyway.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Wanted to leave atleast ONE chapter with a somewhat happy end. Thanks for reading!


	4. Salmon and a Warning

**_Author's notes:_** YAY! OMFG thank you so much EVERYONE for all the fantastic, reviews! They have melted me into a puddle of warm, chocolate goo (and yes, that IS a good thing).

I am ecstatic for getting so much support, thank you ALL!

And **Mint**, I tried using a thesaurus, and it has certainly helped! Thanks for the advice!

Humm, most of you are going to HATE me for the end of this chapter, but I can't help being evil sometimes. 8D

**_Salmon and a Warning_**

The market place wasn't half as busy as I expected it to be, but I still had to edge past the crowds just to get to the butchers. And old woman elbowed me rather painfully in the ribs, and there was a hole in the end of my dress, but it was worth going to the butchers for. They had the finest leg of lamb in Jerusalem, and their sectioned beef was so tender it _fell _apart in your mouth.

Three days have passed since my husbands absence, already people were beginning to notice. Usually when I ventured into town, I would stop by and visit him at the dock, kiss his cheek and continue on with my chores. Now however, it seems everyone in the town noticed that he was gone.

"The husband leave ya already?" Fadil, the rotund butcher snorted at me, his common accent highly frowned upon in the higher parts of the city. "Been noticin' you only buy fer one now."

I shrugged as he passed me my cutlets over the filthy wooden counter. "He's just away for a while."

"Oh?" He rubbed his round chin with a blood stained hand. "An' he leave you 'ere? 'Aint he know how ta' treat a woman? Bet I could help ya there."

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at me, I felt my stomach constrict, but I tried to keep it light hearted. Though Fadil only jokes and flirts, sometimes his little piggy eyes leer just a slight bit _too_ freely. I tittered at his advances, passed him my coins and quickly left the shop. Ugh, _never_ in a million years…

Looking up and left, I spotted the quick flicker of white robes across the roof of the weaver's shop. Altair was careful to follow my every move into town. I didn't mind in the least, dare I say I might have felt a little special if it wasn't his _job_ to do this.

My last stop was the stand near the well, I was running low on candles and simply refused to walk around in the dark. I needed more thread too, being so bored I decided to repair all my dresses and some of the more tattered looking pillows in the house. Ah yes, and some oils to clean the big pot for heating my bathing water, the bottom was starting to turn black. Busy busy busy.

Diya Al Din owned the miscellaneous stall, an old, balding stick of a man, with sharp features and a thin, hooked nose over his bristly moustache. He reminded me of an underfed eagle every time I saw him.

He greeted me kindly, and we chatted briefly before he handed me my candles and cleaning oils.

"Word has it that your husband has taken ill." He said, a slim long fingered hand going to his chin. "I do hope everything is alright. Mundhir was very efficient with the deliveries of fat for the candles. Please give him my regards."

I put the candles carefully in my thick vellum bag, so as not to squash the meat. "Oh no no. He's fine. He's just… away for a while."

Diya Al Din rose a greying brow. He was a hard man to fool, and I was a _terrible_ liar. His aged face spoke volumes of wisdom and understanding, a learned man, if a little snooty at times, but no less intelligent. He leaned closer to me, speaking in a hushed voice.

"Is everything alright, pet? You seem troubled."

I gulped. Sometimes I would swear the man was telepathic. His old, slightly red eyes scanned me, focusing on the faint, faded bruise on my cheek.

My husband was God knows where, doing what I only hope won't get him killed, the money in the house wouldn't keep me going if he is absent for much longer, and a ruthless assassin is following me around town while I shop.

Something in me wanted to tell him, blurt it out, to get rid of this swelling, bursting feeling in the back of my throat every time I thought about it, but I doubt Altair would be too impressed with that.

"I-I'm fine, Al Din." I said. "Just fine."

A moment longer he held my gaze, my excuse of a lie obviously wasted on him, but he was too polite to say. He nodded and I waved goodbye, the crowds shifting until he was obscured. Ever since I was in my teens, he looked out for me. In his own, slight ways of course. Giving me discounts, helpful encouragement and advice, cheering me up somewhat if I was having a bad day, he was a friendly face to meet on these busy mornings of hustle and bustle.

Others however, were not so friendly.

Aludra, the wife of the head fish monger of Jerusalem, she never took a shine to me. A woman who displayed her wealth, she prowled the streets in her jewellery and expensive dresses, her head held high, _less _like a woman every day I see her. Tall, thin, incredibly beautiful, since I first moved here and started chatting to the town's women at the well, her feelings towards me have been _less_ than spiteful.

"I hear," she boomed, loud enough for me to hear her in her well spoken Jerusalem accent to her friend, "Mundhir has _finally_ gone for a much _prettier_ wife. Why he married that first one, I'll _never_ understand."

I seethed, trying to keep my concentration on my bag and weaving in and out between the crowds. The voice was behind me however, I could hear the clanging of her bangles as they danced on her arms, and it was getting nearer.

I wonder if Altair killed for money? I'm sure he could do this one job for me, it would be doing many people a favour.

"I can't blame him." She spoke loudly over the crowds. "A man like that wants a woman with better _curves_! Feminine beauty, class, and some _personality_ to match."

Scoffing, I walked faster, trying to get away from her insults. How dare she! She speaks of _class_, when she was clearly nothing but a tram-

The one time I bump into someone, it has to be when Aludra was standing right behind me. The woman I nearly knocked over in my haste to get away spit curses at me. The contents of my bag burst and spilled over the dusty earth and cobblestones. The crowds parted like the Red Sea, as if I was creating quite the spectacle.

"I'm so sorry!" I said hurriedly, not even glancing at the woman I bumped into, who marched away fuming. I crouched down, trying to retrieve my escaping goods, the candles suddenly taking a mind of their own and rolling in various directions. Thankfully the earthenware pot full of oil didn't smash, but it did land painfully on my toe on it's way down.

Aludra, finding my predicament hilarious, broke into peals of loud, tinkling laughter with her friend, Farrah.

My eyes stung. Heavily embarrassed, not one person stopped to help me as I fought to retrieve my items. My face was heating up, and I knew it was probably as red as the dress Aludra was wearing at the time.

"And clumsy too, what man would _ever _make do with such a _useless_ woman?" She spat in my direction, Farrah beside her, nodding eagerly.

I bit my lip, restraining the urge to turn and break the pot of cleaning oil over her head to see if it would clean her wicked thoughts, before a hand clasped around my wrist and gently urged me up off the ground. The hand was missing a tell-tale ring finger.

I rose to my feet, Altair handing me the rest of my shopping that rolled away. I took it gratefully, plunging them back into my bag, his presence if possible, making me blush even more. "…T-Thanks ."

He nodded, throwing a very cold gaze in Aludra's direction, who's laughter died down, and she smirked at me before walking off, her long nails pulling at the heavy beads around her neck, still cursing me to Farrah.

"Who was _that_?" Altair asked, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder at her.

I giggled at his informality. "Aludra Rihana. She's married to Abdul-Matin, the fish monger."

"Abdul-Matin huh?" He said quietly, a curious hand going to his chin. "I know that name from somewhere…"

Something about Altair's presence seemed to be completely ignored by the crowd. People, even _women_ got in his way, but he gently pushed them to the side, standing slightly in front of me to help make a path. Protectively, he barred me against his back, I was only barely up to his shoulder, using him as a human shield against the constant deafening chatter, the hurried footsteps of guards and crowds of individuals who didn't care where, or more rather _who_ they walked on.

Someone painfully bumped into my back. I stumbled forward, loosing my balance with my bag, but collided softly with a strangled "mmfph!" into Altair's robed back. My hands found his waist, my nose pressing against his spine.

He smelled nice…

Quickly jerking away, I blushed when he looked over his shoulder at me, raising a brow, and I urged him to move, stuttering apologies.

The crowd soon thinned, and he walked by my side rather than in front, like a friend as opposed to a superior. Though I quickly realised it was either to ward others off, or to protect me. His eyes scanned from beneath the hood, as if he was expecting something to jump out and attack at any moment. Something about it reminded me of Adham when he was being protective. Shoulders hunched and forward, head down in more of a glare than in an act of insecurity, hands clenched into fists, cautious, protective, guarded.

Then again, being beside the presence of someone who looked like a monk or a scholar wasn't terribly _threatening_, despite how broad he is.

A sense of foreboding washed over me, and my mind instantly jumped to my husband. How was he fairing?

"Is everything alright?" I asked shakily, trying to will the tension down.

He stayed silent for a moment, before finally uttering a quiet, "It's fine."

He didn't drop his guard, but I sensed him letting it down just a little. I stopped him when we got to the dock of the river. "Thanks for helping me back there."

Not a sound passed his mouth, but he inclined his head at me.

"So… Now that I have your _undivided_ attention," I teased, "is there anything particular you like to eat?"

I think this was the first time I've ever seen his expression go blank. His mildly confused stare almost made me laugh.

Almost…

"You know, food? I'll cook for you, if you want."

Unfortunately, he frowned condescendingly. "That's not necessary."

"Come now, Altair. It's the least I can do, after all, you _are _protecting me."

"It's my _mission _to do this."

"Regardless of that, I'm bored and need something to do. I don't care how exotic, how technical the recipe is, I will make it for you, if you wish."

An eyebrow rose. "So it's not so much out of the goodness of your heart, than sheer boredom?"

"You see, it sounds bad when you say it like _that_." I gestured exasperatedly to him with my bag.

An odd look passed over his handsome features. It was a sort of lopsided little smile, as if he forgot what a real smile actually looked like. Folding his arms, his eyes darted to the dusty ground, studying the cobble and loose stones, and then back to me.

"I can't argue with you, can I?" He cocked his head to the side.

Pouting, I shook my head. "Of course not! Am I not a woman?"

He exhaled noisily, shaking his head. Brown eyes darted to the dock and stalls lined up along the river. The fishermen stood by their boats and counters of baskets full of fish and shells, noisy and shouting, reeking of mud, brine and angle and sweat. The dirt road was wet with river water.

"Salmon." He said curtly. "Baked salmon."

I made an approving noise, fishing around in my bad for the rest of my coins. I still had a few sheqels and three denari left (1), that would be more than enough for salmon. I hoped he would have picked something a little more… technical to make, but I can always spruce it up with one of my mother's old recipes.

Lord, I haven't made salmon since I married Mundhir. He hated fish. It would be nice to have a bit of a change…

Luckily, I didn't start talking before I looked up because, as always, he disappeared again, leaving me in the middle of the street. Bemused, I looked around, glimpsing him blend into the shadows between two buildings. Shaking my head with a sigh, I turned back and started off down the dock of the river.

Utterly beaming, I looked around at the stalls, searching eagerly for the perfect fish. After all, my mother always told me the best way to a man's heart _was_ through his stomach…

* * *

I think I had done rather well, considering the spices I had left over and almost forgotten on my shelves. Now, the whole house smelled of freshly baked salmon and sauce, Adham eagerly begging for scraps by my heels. 

Lost in a daze, my train of broken thoughts slowly found their way to my husband, and I near dropped my large spoon, stirring the sauce. How… how was he doing? I quite liked having the house to myself. It was quiet, I could clean and cook and make a new patchwork quilt for the bed, without disturbance. My husband could be demanding at times, and it often left things half done.

Then I started worrying about him. About money, about the house, about me and the town. To be honest, I didn't really care _what_ the people of Jerusalem thought, but if the women down by the well somehow caught the vicious rumours and took them as truth… then I really _would_ be alone in this house. In this _place_. And I liked it here too much to loose it.

I hoped he wasn't in any danger. I, being his wife, knew more about him than anyone else. There were times with him when I felt somewhat connected, loved. And others, when I felt hated and useless. But of course, every marriage has it's ups and downs, right? I just hoped that wherever he was, and what ever he was doing he wasn't suffering. He may have gotten both of us into this mess, but he was a level headed and decisive man, so he may just pull us out. At least _something_ good came from this, even if it was the most unpredictable and unlikely thing to have ever happened to me.

The sauce was ready, filling the kitchen with the most wonderful scent of cream and cayenne peppers. Adham whimpered at me again, nudging the back of my thigh with his head.

Taking the heavy bucket of water, I poured it into the recess cut out of the floor and back wall, where the fire was cooking, the water coldly extinguishing the dancing flames.

"No Adham, this is not for you." I patted him on the head, and he whined as I poured the last of the sauce into a bowl with the fish, carrying it out of the room with a wineskin bag of water.

After retrieving the ladder, shaking off a few rather ugly looking spiders from the rungs, I hauled myself up onto the roof, bowl balanced in my hand, triumphantly gazing at the evening sky. Altair stood, shoulder against the chimney, his head swivelling in my direction as I noisily grunted my way up the ladder, which was somewhat difficult to do one-handed.

"Dinner!" I chimed in victory of my achievement, thanking my blessed mother for beating cooking skills into me from a young age. Beaming, I handed him the bowl and water, which he took albeit reluctantly, but still bowed in thanks.

"You didn't have to…" but he trailed off, obviously not in the mood for an argument. Either that or pleased he had a proper meal.

The view from the roof looked so… amazing. The sky was a streaky gold and pink, the moon to the far left was just beginning to peak out over an ochre cloud, while the sun set brilliantly orange over the horizon, casting a strange glow on the stone houses and buildings. Stars, barely beginning to shine through, defied the sunset with their light.

Altair sat down towards the sunset, and I followed suit.

Jerusalem was beautiful at times like this. The early summer breeze was warm, and smelled of sand and earth. I sighed contentedly, casting an eye on my company.

Overjoyed he was eating, a swell of pride welled up in my stomach when I found his expression content, and distant. So my food was good, I thought.

I've never felt this happy for someone liking my cooking before. Though Mundhir praised my culinary knowledge, those compliments were nothing compared to how, well… _wonderful _it felt to cook for someone else and know they were enjoying it.

It was nice, sitting up here, silent but not lonely.

After minutes of silence, I heard the _clink_ as he set the bowl down, and uncorked the wineskin bag. With a quick glance, I saw the bowl was empty. _Completely_ empty. Sometimes I love being a woman.

"…Thankyou." He said quietly, before putting the wineskin aside.

Funny, how for one brief moment I was so close to him, so wonderfully close, and now…

"Think nothing of it." I answered.

My gaze fell on him again, he sat with his arms resting on his raised knees, the light warm air threatening to blow his hood back, but it only shook, as if fastened to his head. His straight nose, angular masculine lips and stubbly chin protruded from the white, still as the grave, and expressionless. He caught me looking, and I quickly turned away, a foolish, girlish grin spreading across my face when I knew he was well aware of my stare. I _blushed_ too.

"You do that constantly." He said lowly. "Avoid my eyes."

That was because every time I met his gaze, those intense brown irises felt like they were burning holes into the back of my skull. My heart would beat wildly, my stomach turn with excitement.

"I am… embarrassed."

His silence said everything. He knows what I mean, and I silently hate myself for it. It's not like _I _could forget, and I doubt he was expecting to see me again after that night. I think my sudden lurch into his life startled him a little, and he tried to go on as if it never happened. This is just his job, he's supposed to do this.

When he finally speaks again, his words agrivate me. "I'm… I must apologise. I didn't know you were married when..."

Why I was aggravated by that, I couldn't really tell. I guess it's because…

"I _did_ tell you."

A pause, before he said, "I thought you were lying."

Again the silence, and I feared I may have annoyed him. With the hood, I couldn't see what he was looking at, but his face was turned to the side, and I watched his lips move as he sighed, then spoke again.

"It was only part of my mission. I did not intend for this to happen."

"… I know." I didn't really know what else to say, so I stayed silent.

The sky soon began turning darker, but the air was still as warm, painting the clouds a vivid pink and streaky purple.

"What made you think I was lying?" I asked.

He turned to look at me, and my stomach made that turning-backwards sensation again."…Honestly, I thought you were a whore."

My reaction must have been expected. Just as an incredulous exclamation passed my lips, he held up a hand to stop me.

"A woman out that late at night," he continued, "they usually don't have husbands, and only roam the streets looking for _one_ thing. What _were_ you doing out that late?"

Should I tell him I was trying to defy my husband? The man whom I devoted all of my spare time to, who only allowed me to leave the house in the day? I knew the reason why now, he was trying to keep me from harm. He _did_ care.

But I wasn't thinking like that at the time. I was just… angry.

"I… I was lost." I said. "My husband…" But I trailed off. How dare I defy my husband, and I was sure Altair would think the same of me, it was my own fault for leaving the house alone at night. I should have known better. Then again, we would never have met in quite _that_ entanglement if I didn't. He made me realise how much I _didn't want _my husband, how much I wanted a change, and how frustrated it made me just being here.

But what choice did I have? I can't just throw it away and pretend it was nothing.

No one ever treated me like that before, like Altair did that night. It couldn't have been all me, and if God truly is vengeful, then why are our paths crossing like this? Alone together, talking, venting on my part, opening up (again on my part) to one and other. Does God want me to suffer for what I did, by being tempted with what I can't have, with what I _shouldn't_ have?

Surely, God is merciful, and without spite. But if that is the case, is Altair's presence good, or bad?

And what was the assassin thinking anyway…?

I just… don't know. Perhaps I will find out at a later time. I hope I get a sign, something, _anything_.

"Your husband…" he started cautiously, as if deciding if he should speak, "are you worried for his safety?"

Of course I was. He was my _husband_, after all. But I worry not only for him, for everything. His well being, his sanity. The house, the money, the food. Adham. Everything about his absence worried me. What if… he… _died_? What would I do? Would I be the devoted lovebird, and join him in death, or would I carry on, alone?

Devoted lovebird…? That doesn't sound like me at all. I was devoted, but…

"An awful lot more than you think, Altair. My husband is a… well, a _shifty_ man. But he is no less than anyone else. He is strong in his own ways, and I pray that his strength will end all this. For _both_ of us."

I paused for a moment, deciding what to say next, feeling the eyes from beneath the hood looking at me, analysing me. I met it, concerned, fragile at that moment. Why must I always be told what to do, where to go, and what I should know? Why? What is the purpose? I understand a lot of things far better than most men, I try to look for the best outcome, I'm optimistic, and sympathetic. So why must I _always_ be left behind?

"Altair," honey brown eyes met mine, and I shivered at the intensity of them, feeling the space between us lessen to almost nothing, like I was right beside him as opposed to the few feet away I was now, "what is all this about?"

My voice was weak, I could feel the frustration of the past few days take it's toll, welling up inside my head. Frustration of unawareness of the situation. Of my husband's dirty deals. Of my own powerlessness to stop it. Of my hatred, my dammed female heart for thinking I could gain, an _assassin_ of all people as a _friend_. I wanted more, and it hurt that I couldn't have it.

A grey eagle flew across the roofs to the left. And just as he was about to speak, it cawed loudly, and his head darted to look for the source of the noise.

I watched him, his eyes once again hidden beneath the white hood, but his mouth protruding. A second, he stood up swiftly and gracefully, looking over the roof to the ground below, then to the eagle. His mouth opened only slightly, but I saw it, and it… _scared_ me.

He grabbed my arm, roughly hauling me upwards. "Get back inside. _Now_."

The urgency in his voice shot through me like a kinfe. It was so cold I could almost feel ice pouring from his mouth in a warning growl.

"What, but I-"

Pulling me forward to the edge of the roof, he looked back to the eagle, which was flying off to the right.

"No questions. _Just go_!"

Urging me down the ladder, I paused, my knees wobbling dangerously as I looked at the ground down below. What was going on? The faint clank of armour reached my ears, and I froze in shock. Was someone coming?

Loosing his patience with an aggravated snarl, he picked me up by the waist, ignoring my cry of surprise, and easily slid down the ladder. Taking my hand, he tugged me into the house, the sound of armour getting a little nearer now.

I couldn't help but pray to God at every hurried step.

* * *

**_Author's Notes:_** (1) Sheqels and Denari were coins then, I'm sure. I looked it up on wikipedia, and I'm sorry if it got the wrong time zone or something!

Thanks for taking time to read! Don't you just HATE cliffhangers? 8D ---- (I love this face)


	5. Blooded Floors

**_Author's notes:_** Dear lord, it scares me how fast I wrote this, I was just so insipred after buying a new Muse album called Shobiz, but anyway.

OMG 50 reviews for 4 chapters!!! That's 12.5 reviews per chapter!!! Thank you all so very, very mcuh for all the suppot and helpful criticism. Honestly, I know I really suck with the errors and grammer (and tenses, sorry, sorry) but I've taken it all on board and I'm trying to break bad habits! (such as using so many italics. God, that button is so tempting!)

BTW, it was **PBandJam** who gave me the idea for the theasarus, I'm very sorry for the mixup, and thanks a bundle, it really helped!

**_Warning_**: This chapter contains violence and bloodspill. Be warned, it's kinda gory.

**_Blooded Floors_**

The darkness in the house was almost painful on my eyes. I thought I could see Adham in lounge, and tried to reach out for him, but was pulled back by my arm, the hand around mine tight and dragging me as I stumbled up the stairs.

Tugged into my bedroom, my hand was released, I could feel the heat of the man beside me and I edged closer to it, my eyes seeing spots as they tried to adjust in the gloomy room.

"Altair, what-" But he hushed me, I could just about make out his silhouette in the darkness. His head, almost like that of a bird turned, cautiously listening as the clamour of armour got nearer, and my heart clenched.

Behind him, I grabbed the robes on his waist, trying to pull myself back to earth and rid the dizzying feeling in my head. He walked back, pacing me with him and into the corner of the room, two walls as my protection and then the man, his back like a wall all on it's own.

Save for the sounds of moving armour, nothing else could be heard. It grew, and then stopped, quickly followed by low murmuring. I could feel the rise in Altair's chest, his breathing low and controlled, where as I was on the verge of hyperventilating.

My heart skipped a beat when a knock rattled the door to my house, then again after a few seconds. A shout, then a crash as the door was bust open. He hushed me when I whimpered, burying my face into his robes, my fingers clenching tight in the strong material.

Thunder rumbled in my chest, my pulse fierce as my blood raced at terrific speeds. Footsteps, downstairs, and then a shout.

"Come out, woman!"

That, in it's own way, was my death sentence.

So I prayed. Fucking hell I prayed. I begged, pleaded with God to spare me, to save me, to make all of this go away. I clenched my eyes tight, terrified cries threatening to fall, my limbs were shaking. I could swear the beat of my pounding heart was audible, and it would guide them to us.

Maybe they would stay downstairs, I thought. Their loud, beastly footsteps thumped against the tiles of the kitchen and lounge, I couldn't hear any sounds to indicate Adham's presence, perhaps they…

"Check upstairs."

By then, I stopped breathing. I couldn't remember how to. Time was moving too slow, as the footfalls hit against the stone stairs, and I was pressed further into the corner, shielded by Altair's taller, broader frame.

Light pooled into the room, followed by two guards, no, _templars_, the crusaders carrying torches and swords. The flickering flames danced around the room. One of them made a noise, calling the other's up, while the guard nearest pointed his sword at Altair, who was still so calm, his breath even, his shoulders tense.

"Give up the woman." He spat. "You're out-numbered."

I stared, wide eyed at the guards from under Altair's arm. He nudged me gently with his shoulder, so I let go of his robes. Two more men marched into the room, the one at the back dressed differently to the rest, his armour under-layered with robes of deep red and purple.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his accent hard to place, stepping forward, "if it isn't one of the _assassins_. Let's make this easy, shall we? Give up the woman, and we may just spare you the pain of trying to protect her."

His voice was deep, booming, and when his grey eyes met mine, I felt a fear like I had never known. They spoke of just _how_ he was going to kill me. I was shuddering in terror, and Altair stayed silent. He shifted, rolling his shoulders back, arrogantly cocking his head to the side, as if beckoning the opponent forward. I gasped when the man drew his sword.

"You fool. Five of us, against just you, and a trembling woman?" He chuckled, the firelight against his back giving his armour and unearthly glow. "Last chance to leave."

He swung the deadly blade, threatening and cocksure at the same time. I plastered myself against the wall, my heart lodged painfully in my throat, begging God to be spared, to save me, save Altair.

How do soldiers and warriors do this? How do they fly into battle, so true, so sure of themselves? How do they stare death in the face, and feel no fear at all?

I heard sounds, and it took me a second to realise they were coming from me. My hands were scrabbling against the wall as if trying to dig a tunnel out, breath coming in noisy, whimpering drags as the man approached, sword down, hilt in hand, smirk sliding easily over his face. The other guards drew their weapons alongside their leader, placing their torches into the candelabra on the far wall.

Horrified, I prayed and prayed, if I was to die now, let it be merciful, please, please don't let me suffer.

A hurried scraping noise followed their footsteps, but they ignored it, staring each other down like animals ready to attack. And no sooner had the man made a move to strike, did a black blur catch him off guard, and he stared disbelieving at my dog, Adham, as he shot in front of Altair, and stood his ground, stopping both men in their tracks.

Never in my life have I seen Adham like this before. Usually a friendly dog, now his glossy fur was on end, his ears down and back, vicious fangs and teeth bared in a snarl, low, terrifying growling rumbling in his throat. His head was down, brown eyes glaring at the men, teeth showing, limbs still, ribs puffed out and proud.

From my corner, I just saw from the side as his pupils dilated and he shot forward. It was short lived, Altair used it as a distraction and forcefully pushed the dog out of harms way, darting forward with speed like I've never thought humanly possible and drove his hidden blade straight through the man's jaw.

I drew a breath when I heard the crack, blood spluttering from the wound, his hand coming down in a swift movement to remove the blade. I think I tried to scream then, but no sound passed my lips, Adham had been pushed near me, and he raised himself up. I threw my arms around his belly, trying to save him from the men who now circled around the assassin, their leader's body fallen and slumped on the floor. Blood slowly oozed out of the hole in his neck, a deep red puddle on the tiles.

Adham was barking, the deep boom ringing in my ears, the shuddering of his chest cavity shaking me, but I held fast. I was transfixed, staring horror struck as each man drove to attack, to _kill_, but Altair was far too fast, and easily side-stepped their blows, his sword blocking effortlessly, sending sparks as metal met metal.

His mouth was set in a grimace of concentration. One guard surged forwards, but he darted fourth to meet him as their swords struck, one foot hooking around the other, bringing the guard down on his backside. The free hand darted fourth, and grabbed the man's face. I screamed then, when I heard the hidden blade jerk through his head, blood splattering out the back, over Adham's fur who was barking wildly and trying to free himself from my grip.

The second body fell, my eyes refused to tare away from the sight of his blood filled eyes rolling back, mouth open, sword still in hand. Red elixir pumped out from the hole, then receded to ooze, rivers pouring down the man's forehead and into his short hair. I could feel my stomach turning, fire and fear boiling away at my organs.

I made a noise, a sort of horrified squeak at the scene, and he heard it. It caught him off guard. He turned to look at me, to see if I'm hurt, but the action cost him. A sword, quick, hacks at his left arm and he recoils, an angry snarl passes from his mouth. But it is short lived, and the next blow is blocked, the stream of blood rolling down his arm goes unnoticed.

It was almost like a well versed dance. There was no pause in him to think. If there was an opening, he would take it, it didn't matter where it was. Another sword swung, but Altair, far too quick, butted his heel right where it would hurt the man most, sending him too his knees with a strangled scream. His falter was his death, as the sword spurred across and viciously slit his throat, spraying the white robes in a shower of angry red.

I've… never seen so much blood before.

Hell, I've never seen someone being _killed_ before, either. I was gasping for air, my heart, my poor heart numbly beating my ribs with enough force to crack them in two.

And suddenly, Altair didn't seem…

This _thing_, in my house was no longer made of flesh and bone. What human could cut another down like _that_, with no expression, with no hesitation or remorse? How can he ignore the pain in their eyes, when he deals the fatal blow, how life leaves them in spurts and showers of red, like obscene flowers, or paintings when they decorate the floor?

By the way he moves, I am almost convinced he isn't human. So fast, he parries the blows with his own sword. The last man is angry, and scared. I can see it in his eyes. But this man… this… He is like a ghost, in his white robes. An animal, mindlessly killing, though it is more like slaughter. He finds enjoyment in this, I think. His last kill, in my opinion was by far the worst.

The last guard's rage was his downfall. Angry, too angry, he lunged forward, bring his sword down, where but a second before was Altair's head. Using the momentum, he grabbed the guard by the sash on his back, flinging him bodily into the adjacent wall. I cried out as he brought his sword, thrusting it swiftly though the man's abdomen, pinning him against the stone brickwork. I could hear the blood curdling in his lungs as he expelled air, hands spasmodically grabbing at the hilt of Altair's sword, who only drove it deeper at the action and twisted it, until there was a crack and a chocked scream.

And as the man looked around the room, at the three fallen soldiers, at Adham, at _me_, I could see his shock, his fear, his reluctance to die.

But it was too late.

The sword was wrenched free, Altair stepped back as the man crumpled to his knees, hands covering the wound, his eyes wide at the floor. The life left him in a pained roll of his eyes, turning them back into a milky, red-shot white and he fell, face forward into his own blood.

I could feel heat rising in my throat, burning, I gasped and choked for air, Adham still barking loudly. He soon calmed to a whimper, but I did not. The blood stained sword was sheathed, hands, robes an array of splatters, dripping. He is not a man.

He turned to me, and in my terrified, confused state, sat whimpering on the floor, scratching at the stone wall, hurting my fingernails, my free hand still clinging to Adham, who was nudging against me in an unspoken comfort. But I was far from comfort.

Something… something passed over his features then, but I couldn't register it. He tentatively reached out a hand to me, approaching but I cried out, squashing myself against the wall, my dog moving forward to block my view, his fur soft against me, his heat radiating.

I was shaking, violently, trying to keep the contents of my stomach down, trying desperately to stop my tears from falling.

It was… so _horrifying_. The image would be forever burned into my mind, I don't think I can just forget what happened here, the screams… the b-blood.

The man… the _monster_.

He slowly drew his hand back, shaking his head, and wordlessly picked up two of the bodies, slinging one over his shoulder like a bag, the other secured tightly in his arms. With a grunt, he carried them both down the stairs, and out of sight.

Returning sometime later, he took the two other bodies, the fallen men, back down the stairs.

I don't know where he took them. I don't want to know.

* * *

How did I get here? I can't remember, and why I was here, I still didn't know.

On my knees, I was scrubbing the blood off my bedroom floor. I can't remember when I started, but I didn't intend to stop anytime soon. My arms ached, the water puckered my fingertips. It was late morning now.

So much blood…

With a sigh, I dipped my towel into my bucket of water, wringing it out, watching the tendrils pour back in a murky mix of red and brown. Bringing the towel back to the floor, I scrubbed and scrubbed again, feeling it heat up with the amount of force I was putting on the tiles.

How many men did Altair kill? With his level of skill, accuracy, speed and ruthlessness, it suggested a lot.

At first I was shocked, terrified, now I was…

I was pensive. I prayed.

How could I think of him as a man? Just a few short hours ago, I was talking with him, smiling with him. Funny… how quickly things can change…

Hah, my life has never changed so quickly, so dramatically in such a short space of time.

Assassins are trained to kill. That statement unnerved me, exactly how _do_ you train someone to kill? How do you tell a man to take a life, and assure him that it's alright, that it's allowed? What do you have to do to a person to get them to kill?

What has happened in his life to make him so… hollow? Hollow like his hood. Empty, gaping countenance, there is no man underneath.

Something must have been torn from him, to make him act so viciously like that. His blows were not merciful, they were violent, they were angry, they caused as much pain as humanly possible. Why?

Never in my house… has someone died. I scrubbed harder, but the blood rolled away from me, defiant.

Sure, the men who came to my house searching for my husband rough-handled me. They threatened me, they hit me once or twice, but my husband protected me, along with other men from the town. But those were just brawls… this was…

I can't live here knowing there's bloodstains on the floor, on the walls. Blood is the essence of life, along with the heart and the head and the soul, so knowing that people lost so much of that precious essence here, in the room where I sleep… I didn't want to think about it.

Funny… just hours ago I was so… so happy, so hopeful. What happened?

It was useless cleaning with dirty water. It merely spread the filth, but I couldn't bring myself to go downstairs and get another bucket. I was cleaning, almost ritualistically. But the blood wouldn't come off, it just rolled in different directions. It would be here forever, not just a physical mar on the house.

The stench turned my insides to jelly. Like copper and water and… people. It was scary.

I heard footsteps, I glanced around at a pair of shoes at the doorframe, and flinched. I couldn't look up, I just continued scrubbing, even though it was going nowhere.

Bastard, what did I say about shoes in the house? How dare he dirty my floors…

Perhaps I was loosing my mind. My heart felt dull and heavy in my chest, my mind wrung like the filthy towel I was "cleaning" the floor with. My broken thoughts scattered everywhere like dust in the wind, I couldn't think, I could only clean. It was getting me no where, fast.

How did it turn out like this? Surely, God is merciful, for I couldn't have possibly sinned _that_ bad.

It was nothing to him, he did this too often to let it disturb him. But I, a witness to it for the first time, was horribly disturbed by it, such violent kills.

He watched me for a moment longer, then walked near. I was twitching with every slow step he took, still cleaning, head down. I couldn't meet his gaze.

I didn't want to.

God, why? What did I do to let this happen? Should I have intervened? Should I have tried to stop their fight?

"Stop it." He said quietly, curtly.

I shook my head, scrubbing harder, hurting my hands. My eyes stung.

"_Stop_ it." He bent down, trying to take the towel from my but I wrenched it free. His hands, quick, strong, darted out and caught both my wrists, making me drop the sodden rag. He hauled me upwards, but I was too drained to stand properly.

How did I get here? I can't remember.

Falling against him helplessly, he let go of my wrists, catching me as I slumped against his chest and sobbed, my hands fixing tightly in the material. Low groans emitted from my mouth, streaky tears pouring down my face, finally released. His hold was strong, the material warm against me.

I've never witnessed a single act of tenderness from this man, and yet he held me, strong and true, genuine. His fingertips massaged circles into my back, his chin resting on my head.

Somewhere, beneath the hood and the bloodstains, there is a man, I convinced myself. Words were not needed now, he simply held me as I cried my eyes out, burying my face into his robes, every part of me shaking. Everything from the past few days, the fear, the hate, the worry, the terror broke through the walls of my quiet demeanour, and I cried. Yes, somewhere, behind the blade and sword, there is a man.

I pitied him.

I was so tired, so drained from everything that has happened, and then sudden realisation that this was only the beginning. I must be strong to things like this, but I couldn't be, not now at least.

I sagged, my mind foggy and drunk with repressed emotions and sadness, fear. It felt like I was falling, but I hit something soft, he picked me up in his arms, and carried me.

He carried me to my bed, tears rolling down my temples, so terrified, but I couldn't move. Placing me on the squishy, cold bed, he pulled the duvet up over me, my eyes felt too heavy to open up in protest. Only sleep mattered then.

God, how did this happen? Was it… punishment? I couldn't have possibly sinned that bad, for this to happen. Those men… perhaps they don't have to suffer anymore. God forgives, God always forgives the helpless. I know they _were_ here to kill me but… they didn't stand a chance.

How did I get here? It doesn't matter. Only sleep mattered.

* * *

I awoke to the feeling of fingers, treading softly through my hair. It was warm, so blissfully, beautifully warm and comfortable I didn't want to wake up. Somewhere in my sleep, I lost my duvet, but it was warm.

Blearily cracking an eye open, it was dark, a candle flickered in the corner. How long was I asleep? The hand previously in my hair, it belonged to Altair. He sat on the edge of my bed, his robes cleaned, his face pensive, almost sad.

He noticed I was awake, and gently tried to remove his hand from the wavy strands, but I reached up and grabbed it, begging him to stay.

Yes, the skin was warm, it was human. Not a monster.

Everything was beginning to fall apart on me. My husband was gone, possibly dead, four men were killed in my house and I fear I'm falling in love with a dangerous assassin. Who could easily snap my neck if he wanted to.

His eyes met mine, tired, a weariness I've never seen before, the colour dark and too difficult to make out in this light. He squeezed my hand, reassuring me he wouldn't leave. I looked down, my eyes fixing on the intricate metal plate on the right side of his chest.

"I'm so sorry."

He stilled, searching my face for an answer.

"You have nothing to apologise for." His voice was low, gentle. I never thought he could sound so gentle before.

I kept my eyes down. I was sorry, sorry for everything that happened, sorry for my weak, foolish tears, for my terror of the fight, for my refusal to look at him, even when he protected me.

God… He _protected_ me. And it hurt, because I hated him for killing, and yet it was to _protect_ me. How could I?

"Look at me." He said, voice soft and commanding. His hand left mine and cupped my cheek, thumb brushing off my brow. I met his gaze, and he looked so unguarded at that point. Open. "You have _nothing_ to apologise for."

I stifled a cry, by biting my lip. My hand was on his wrist, I nuzzled my cheek into his hand, so desperate for comfort.

"How did you _do _all that?" I whispered, solemn. I was asking how did he kill, how did he hurt so much?

What happened to you, Altair?

"It is my mission." He answered, his brows furrowing for a second. He adjusted his weight on the bed, his hand still warm against my face.

"You killed them." I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, my heart sinking deep down, almost like it was in my stomach.

I watched as he looked away, to the corner of the room I was cowering earlier.

"They were… they would have killed you. I didn't want to kill them, but under the circumstances… it had to be done."

He was genuine, his mouth set in a hard line, the light of the candle dancing shadows against the white hood.

That hood, like a mask or a wall that held the truth underneath.

"I know."

He swallowed, turning back to look at me again, and said, "I should be the one apologising. I… You shouldn't have seen that. I should have just gone with my instincts, and left you on the roof."

So he made a mistake, did it really matter? I was safe now, I didn't want to think about it anymore. It was far too tiring. Though I doubted I could forget what happened, the least I could do was forgive. I couldn't stay angry with him, not after he tried so hard to defend me.

His left hand cupped the other side of my face, eyes staring intently into my own, as if searching for something. The aching sadness burned at my eyes, rolling hot tears down my cheeks.

"I'm so sorry." He said. "I only wanted to protect you."

His words were meant to stop me from crying, but I was far past that point. He was genuine, and it registered in me that it meant something, a double meaning. He… _wants_ to protect me? No one has ever wanted to protect me as much before, enough to kill…

Why did it ache? Why was it the most painful, and wonderful thing to hear?

Perhaps there was a man underneath that hood, behind that blade.

He must have built so many walls around himself, walls of arrogance and cocksure attitude and defiance. Walls of silence and anger, of steel. I pitied him even more, especially now that his walls were crumbling down at the sight of me crying, holding his hand, as he tried terribly to explain his conviction.

His thumbs circled the apples of my cheeks, rough, but soft, warm. He was so unguarded now, it almost scared me, for I have never seen the man like this before. His eyes slid down my face, searching, expression furrowed and deciding. He moved gently closer, and my heart sped up.

"I'm so sorry." He said, his breath tickling my chin, face hidden so much in shadow all I could see was the hood.

He lowered his head, softly brushing his lips against mine, a ghost of a touch. My heart, weak from the events still managed to beat heavily in my chest. My hand tightened around his wrist, eyes searching in the darkness for his, but I couldn't find them.

He pressed further again, lips against mine, I could feel his sharp intake of breath through his nose, I much the same. God, it was so warm, so wonderfully warm, and I was still so tired an drained, but nothing could compare to this, this heat.

My heart fluttered, tears forgotten and cold on my face, the mouth against mine caressing, so slow, so wonderfully gentle. Lord, I could have never expected anything about this man to be gentle.

Soft, feather light brushes were planted on my lips, they travelled to my jaw, down around to my ear, where he expelled a breath into my hair.

"Please forgive me." He whispered, needy, desperate, and… sad.

He was a little broken then, I think. He didn't expect me to get so worked up, so upset, and it broke his heart. At least that's what I thought. He messed up, and he was sorry.

I could forgive. How could I stay mad, after that, after hearing him so fragile? I brought my arms up, wrapping them around his shoulders, my fingers brushing softly against the back of the hood.

"I forgive you." It was said almost like a prayer, and he pressed a kiss to my neck, gently before he rose, detaching my arms from his shoulders.

Yes, his walls were built again, I helped provide the mortar this time. He was guarded again, but I was happy for it. He only wanted to protect me, if that meant by building walls around himself, so be it. As long as he stays safe, that I don't distract him anymore.

I think he smiled, only slightly before he got up and quietly left the room, his lingering warmth still present on the bed. I pulled my duvet back around me.

Please, Lord. Please help him.

* * *

**_Author's Notes:_** OMG YAY all done! I was really excited writing this chapter, and to those who my not have believed her thoughts while watching someone being killed, I'm sure watching somone die in such a violent way is enough to fuck ANYONE up for a long, long time, especailly if it's at the hands of someone you care about. It hasn't happened to me, but I'm trying to get into the mindset.

Thanks for reading!


	6. Surprising Visits

**_Author's Notes:_** Sorry, I know it's been a while (by my standards) for an update, I was a little stuck with this chpater as to how to introduce the plot, but I think it turned out okie dokie.

Again, and I can't stress this enough, thank you all so very, very much for the positive, and often constructive reviews! Honestly, you're all soooooo sweet! sniff I-I'm gonna c-cry sniffcrysniff

BTW, I brought back Diya Al Din into the plot, if you remember the man from the Misc stall in chapter three, and he will play a fairly big role in this.

Enjoy!

**_Surprising Visits_**

The next two days were spent as if nothing had happened, and I almost believed this to be true. When I awoke the night after in early dawn, the blood once splattered across the floor and walls was gone, my stairs were clean, even my front door was repaired. Altair didn't specifically say he cleaned it up, but I couldn't think of any other reason why. Either way, I was grateful, I didn't think I could stomach it anymore.

The only way I was sure none of it was some insane series of dreams was due to that fact that Adham had seemed even more protective than usual. That, and the tare in Altair's robes where he was cut. I mended it for him, on request.

We didn't speak much since then. He seemed to me a little cold, distant. I think he hated me seeing him as a man, and not the fierce hooded assassin he so often displayed to the world.

Perhaps… it was better that way. Distant…

Either way, an unease settled itself firmly in my chest.

The women around the well noticed, one early morning. Collecting my water, I shakily pulled the metal handle up, slinging it over the bar and held it, sighing, tired. I rested against the side of the well, but I still felt tired. I've been tired for days now, it didn't really matter how much rest I got.

My rather one-sided conversation with a woman named Johara stopped when she eyed my expression. Putting her pot on the ground, she rounded me on.

"Something wrong?" She asked, in her rather soothing tone. "You haven't smiled once since you got here."

Johara was in her mid-forties. Small, thin with a round little face and shiny black hair. She had four children, all boys, and bared this motherly sense to her that was wonderfully wholesome and easy to open up too. Anbar, who stood beside, was young and vibrant, cheeky and outspoken and was often looked down upon for her wisecracking and biting wit. Her eyes glanced up at me for a moment, throwing me a mischievous grin.

I looked into the pool of crystal clear water down the well, the old, worn stones glistening in the morning sunlight. The town was busy as always in the morning, echoes of chatter buzzing like flies, feet thumping the ground like beasts. It was too hot out, summer was showing through now. I wiped the sweat wearily off my brow.

"… No…" I couldn't really say anything more. Despite everything, they were my friends, and I hated lying to them. Especially Johara, who comforted me back when I was upset about unsuccessfully conceiving children.

It wasn't just what happened that night, the blood, the gore, the violence and how much Altair just seemed to enjoy causing pain. It was just…

God, what have I become? A mere ghost of a woman, so much they can even see it in my face?

He killed to protect me. He stayed with me, he comforted me in the most loving way possible. But he was next to impossible to read, and I had no idea what was running through his mind when he watched me while I slept, and then…

My hand went to my lips again, and I turned away, picking up my bucket with a heavy heart. It was impossible, it was simply his job to do this…

Johara called me back, her hand reaching out to my arm. "I can't bear to see you like this. What has happened? Is it… Mundhir?"

I winced, and they followed suit. Now, Johara, Anbar, and two more women named Hafsah and Nadia crowded around me, their first instinct to comfort. My head felt sore, the murmuring women encouraging me to pour out my heart and soul. I was trapped against the well and wall of females, confusion welling up when their voices grew to an incoherent hum and I held my hands up, halting their speech.

Partly, yes it was about Mundhir. But it was so much more too. Everything that happened recently had confused me so much I couldn't tell my foot from my elbow.

And I wanted nothing more than to tell them, to just let it all out, but I was faced with a far different problem than just telling them the honest truth and hope they would actually _believe_ me. I looked up to the roofs around me, not seeing, but Lord I swear sometimes I can _feel_ it when he's there. I was forbidden to say, I had to lie.

"I… I miss him." I choked, not sounding like myself at all.

God, how long did I have to keep this up? How much longer could I keep lying to myself, to them?

They fussed something chronic, patting my shoulders and hugging me. But their words were nothing but the twittering of birds to me, I was deaf to them. Lord, I have never felt so distant, so alienated from people before in my life. I knew these women, these ladies I shared secrets and gossiped with, who swapped stories with me and made me laugh. Who I listened to and helped console.

A desperate need drove me to tell them. My heart would burst fourth from my chest, grow a mouth and tell them itself if I didn't. But I had to edge around it, and only told them the one fixation on my mind, the once which refused utterly to leave me be.

"It's not just Mundhir." I cried to them, hushing their rant. "I just… I… He's gone away for a while and I-"

Hafsah, a stout, old woman could see the hesitation in my face. "You know you can tell us anything. We're here for you."

I bit my lip. I supposed, I have known them for a long time now, and I wanted nothing more than to get it off my chest, or at least make sure I wasn't going just a little out of my mind.

"Have you ever thought of… being with another man?"

Shocked stares greeted my question, and I stuttered out apologies, hoping I didn't sound too bad, as if _I_ of all people was accusing them of adultery!

I however, was in favour of being shocked when not one, but _all four _of them shrugged.

"Sweetheart, _every_ woman dreams of other men." Nadia, a similar build to myself sighed and leaned on my shoulder, her rather large nose high in the air.

"Of course, it's only natural really! Why must you be so upset?" Anbar took the bucket from me, smiling that near breathtaking smile of hers and setting the water down.

Hafsah giggled. "Really, you're almost _too_ naive sometimes."

But it was Johara's story that shocked me the most. "Why, one of my own children isn't even Hassan's." Hassan is Johara's husband, and as his name implies, is extremely handsome.

None of them flinched at this, and it was obvious to me that they already knew. I stared at her, shocked, blank. Hassan was rich and handsome, and upright, dignified every time I saw him. Johara always came across as a devoted wife, a loving mother. She was a good, God-fearing woman… why?

"Don't get me wrong." She continued. "Hassan is quite the man. But he's a _bastard_." She added in a biting undertone, a sad little smile playing across her lips, a smile I used quite often myself, it was then I knew why she said it. Hassan must beat her, quite badly too, by the look on her face.

Exhaling noisily, she pulled me into a hug. "God made men to sow his seeds where he may, but made women to limit the crop to one field, as my mother said. Not often true. Trust me pet, I'm sure even a devoted woman like you can have impure thoughts sometimes. Just promise me," she let go, her brown eyes joining with mine and I saw the pain, her life had taken it's toll on her and made her cinnamon eyes bloodshot and weary, "you should only do what you think is right, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone. Ask God, and no matter what, God will always forgive you, because you're doing what's right. Right?"

That… made sense I supposed. Johara often reminded me of my mother. She too, said that in times of distress I should turn to God and seek guidance. My mother warned me not to hurt people, not to be selfish. But… sometimes, I just want to look out for myself.

But… these women. They have all had thoughts, and experiences of adultery like mine! God fearing women, all good and righteous! Or so I thought.

"Are you surprised?" Anbar asked, a cheeky grin sliding over her face. Though she had a bit of a _reputation_, I never believed it to be true until now.

I looked to the ground. They were all… just like me. And Johara, one of her children wasn't even Hassan's!

"Y-yes." I said, my eyes searching the dust and water. "But, I do feel better about it now."

Anbar was young, and giggled foolishly. "You have more right than us after all. You were _sold_ into marriage!"

And it was true. They were just like me. They were human. Perhaps I have been trying too hard to be the perfect wife, trying too hard to please. Was I… the only one? Though I do not doubt they love their husbands, it seemed that in the end they were, well, just women. Perfectly capable of being attracted to others and even falling into men's traps, just like me.

It was as though a great weight had been lifted from me when they smiled, and I suddenly felt closer to my friends from the well than ever before. It hit me, that their husbands may not even know, and though they may feel guilt it just made them even _more_ human.

Everyone makes mistakes, I suppose this was just their way of getting around it, or venting their feelings.

No, God could not possibly disapprove of such beautiful, wonderful women. Women who comfort, who console, who listen, and in the end, are only human.

I smiled with them, glad their approval lessened the dead weight on my chest. It made me realise my predicament with Altair may not be as awful as I thought.

_Do what you think is right…_

And that I will. I love Johara with all my heart. She is a good, wise, beautiful woman with a heart of gold, and I dare anyone to say different.

Because she's just like me. She's human. She's a woman.

* * *

In better spirits, I returned home that day with my water buckets, a new found wave of energy bringing back my strength. I wasn't alone in this, I knew it. Sometimes, all it takes are simple sentiments from friends to help me realise how much people care.

I emptied the water out in the basin near the back wall, Adham had taken a habit of following me all over the house now, and barked loudly whenever I left. At first it was endearing, but now it was starting to get a little annoying, my neighbours were none to fond of the noise either. I nudged the dog with my left knee, trying to get him to move so I could manoeuvre myself back inside and make dinner.

I was planning to make chicken in lentil sauce, but before I could even pick up the jar of pulses, Adham yapped loudly and stood at my heels, growling. I heard the tapping from upstairs, and not even in need of a warning, I shouted towards the ceiling so he could hear me. "_Shoes_, Altair!"

A faint grumble, then two clunks followed until he padded softly down the stairs, watching me smirking in triumph. Adham continued to bar his path, but I gently shrugged him away. He curled up beside the door, eyes alert and cautious.

When not tucked into the boots, Altair's soft grey slacks swept the floor. He regarded me lopsidedly from beneath the hood as I pulled the material from the small pot of lentils and poured a measure into a bowl.

"I have word of your husband."

I wrapped the jar up and put it back on the shelf, taking a bottle full of sloppy paste and uncorking it with my teeth.

"Oh?" I said, spitting the cork into my hand. "It goes well?"

Pouring some of the paste into the bowl, I saw from the corner of my eye as he looked down to the floor, then to Adham.

"No. Brother Sofian was killed in an ambush, now Bashir and your husband have gone into hiding."

Putting the bottle down with a sigh, I braced my hands against the table and hung my head. "… Will he be alright?"

A pause, then, "I shouldn't see why not. Bashir is more than capable of protecting him. The assassin's bureau will provide them with cover and shelter until the chase has stopped."

I nodded, turning back to my bowl and picking up a large spoon to mix it with. Not really able to tell how I felt at that moment, the only way I could describe my emotion was possibly… empty. Yes, empty suited it. I wasn't worried, or afraid. It was more like I didn't really care. He was safe, that was all I needed to know.

"I'm… sorry." I mixed the runny paste and lentils. "About Sofian."

"Don't be." He retorted, folding his arms. "The man was an idiot."

I winced. That wasn't very nice. But I wouldn't really know…

"Anything else?" Not meaning to sound so cold, like I was trying to get rid of him, I rephrased my question. "Are you hungry? I'm cooking-"

A knock, on my door just as Adham barked and stood up, taking off for the front of the house. Altair nodded to me and left quickly for the roof while I made my way to the entrance, pushing the dog back by the collar to cease his low growls, haunting, vigilant cries.

"Al Din?" I exclaimed, as I pulled the rotting wood back on it's creaky hinges. "How… surprising? Please come in."

The thin man smiled, albeit gravely, at me and stood in the door, politely removing his shoes. I thought it was just me, but he looked thinner than usual, and even more tired. Adham relaxed, unafraid.

"A quick word, if you will in private?"

"Of course, come into the lounge."

I led him inside, my dog following happily behind me, Al Din reaching out a spidery hand to gently rub his ears. His old grey eyes studiously examined my house as we entered the lounge, before turning his gaze to me, elderly and grave, yet still with that ever present wise nature to him. Adham wagged his tail, pawing at the man's robes, who consoled him with a patting hand.

"You best sit down." He said, and I did awkwardly, as if I was the guest.

What was this about…?

"My pet, I'm sure you have noticed people asking for your husband, correct?"

I nodded, not sure where he was going with this. A certain… sadness lingered in him. I grew suddenly worried.

He sighed deeply, as only an old man could. "I'm sure the assassin knows I am here."

I stood up at that point, shocked, horrified that he knew and yet said it so casually.

"Don't be alarmed! Trust me, pet, I am the only one who has noticed, and linked it to the fact that your husband is also missing."

My mouth was agape, no one has said anything to me before, and I'm sure I would have heard _something_ from the women by the well if they noticed, being the terrible gossips they are. But how did he know Altair was an assassin? Was he following me?

A hand went to his chin, a knowing smile, rather fatherly at that too. "I've known you since you were a babe, no? I notice when you are worried, sad, or frightened. And I noticed the monk helping you in the street several days ago too. That same monk who flies so effortlessly over the rooftops, watching you. Sit down, pet."

He began to pace, and I sat obediently, Adham content by my heels against a big red cushion.

"I know when your husband hits you, and I of all people cannot deny it when I think the man is of ill deed, not only towards you, I might add. I'm sure, that putting you under the protection of one of Al Mualim's assassins, Mundhir must have gotten himself into a lot of trouble this time."

"This time…?"

"Yes." He replied, a dark look passing over his face. "This is not the first time Mundhir has been involved with thugs, vermin and criminals. My dear, it simply saddens me that you of all people have to be involved in this. I'm sure you must be terrified."

This struck a chord with me, mostly because I liked to believe I wasn't a simpering woman terrified of her own shadow, and because partly it was true. I _was_ terrified. But I refused to let it break me like a twig, I refused to back down even when men are hammering down my door, and I refuse to go insane after witnessing those same men's slaughter. I will endure, I will be strong, for myself, for Mundhir, for my friends too. I _will_ endure. For Altair, to make his job easier.

"Pet, I'm so sorry to be the informant to this… _farce_. Call this assassin down, he must hear this too."

I paused, unsure if I should or not. Could I… really trust Diya Al Din with seeing Altair? Then again, the man already knew quite a lot, even about Al Mualim, so would it really be any harm?

No, it was not my place.

"You play a dangerous game, old man." And sure enough, Altair was already listening, leaning against the doorframe cockily. Adham started growling at him, but I hushed the dog.

"Ah, so you must be-"

"Don't speak." He spat, flashing his left hand, the glint of the blade ardent under the armour. "Now _get out_. I'm rather against killing old men, but I might make an exception should you prove troublesome."

"Alta-" But he hushed me before I could berate him. A frown etched into my face. The last thing I needed now was a fight, and Diya Al Din was a close friend to me, so I utterly refused to allow him to be killed.

If he had information, what harm would it be?

"Surely, you can understand if I want to help? I have no harmful intent, I like you, am trying to protect this woman." He held out his frail arms, inviting peace. Altair however, wasn't buying it. He scowled.

"Let me reiterate." He spat. "Get _out_."

As if to threaten, he brandished his hidden blade with a low _shink_. Al Din flinched.

"Altair, please!" I cried. "If he has information, it may be of use to you."

"I get my own information." He retorted, not once glancing at me. Eyes on the target, always. "People are not to be trusted. Especially traders who conspire with your husband. If they use you to get to him, what then?" He held up the blade, legs braced against the floor, battle ready, though Al Din was no threat. It was simply to intimidate him enough to leave. "If I have to remove you from this house myself, I will."

"Stop it!" I said, and it took me a second to realise my voice had risen slightly. Standing, I posed myself in front of Al Din, protecting him, my arms out to beg Altair to desist.

He stared incredulously at me, glaring for questioning his judgement, but I failed to care. I wasn't going to let Al Din get hurt, who never did anything wrong to me. I couldn't allow someone so old and wise be spoken to in such a manner, and I'm sure if Altair spoke to Al Mualim in the same tone, he would be killed.

"I cannot trust this man's information, he is too well connected to the city."

"_I_ trust him!" I scowled at him, such disrespect! He stared at me, as if to ask 'do you not trust me?'. But he thought the better of the question, and lowered his hand. Of course, I trusted both of them equally, but if Diya Al Din wanted to come to my house to talk to me personally, the matter _must_ be important.

"…Why?" He asked hesitantly.

"He's my _friend_." I hissed, begging him for peace and some manners, God was that so much to ask?

A glower, then a reluctant nod and he walked fully into the room. I relaxed, moving to sit back on the cushions, behind my "valiant" protector. Such disrespect! Al Din mouthed a "thank you" to me and continued.

"As I was saying, you husband is involved with many criminals about the city. Usually just small, petty crimes, so it was a surprise to me when I heard of Mu'ayyad. A man that dangerous couldn't possibly be conspiring with Mundhir of all people, I thought. But it deemed to be true."

Stopping his thoughtful pace, he turned to face me with tired eyes, a worried stare. "Mundhir is not the only one who had been caught up in this mess. I am sure he was just a mule for delivery, but Mu'ayyad thought the better of handing it over, and your husband knows too much to allow him to live. Mu'ayyad's connections run deep through Jerusalem, with traders, Templar, even some of the monks are paid to keep silent about his associations. So when word got out that your husband has gone missing, Mu'ayyad's men got suspicious."

"Do you know of any people directly connected to Mu'ayyad?" Altair asked.

"Only what I hear of from my stall." He sighed. "Though I am sure Aludra's husband, the fish monger is connected through the channels with him."

He turned back to me, full of concern, his old eyes shining. "My only concern here is your well being. So believe me when I say that Mu'ayyad's men will try to use you. I can't tell you exactly all of those connected, because frankly, I don't know. But I implore you to keep your eyes sharp, especially around traders and guards."

"I've already been threatened." I said lowly, about the other night. "Men came to my house in an effort to take me. Templar."

"And what happened to them?" He asked.

"I killed them." Altair replied smoothly.

Diya Al Din's face paled. "If that is the case, many more men will return here. Now they know there is a threat, and they will do what they can to try and use you. They will stop at nothing."

I stiffened. I couldn't be so important, that men put themselves in danger to try to kill or kidnap me. Surely, I wasn't _that_ important.

"Why me?" I posed. "I'm not a trader, nor do I have any information. So why?"

"Many reasons." Altair said. "You can be used as bait, or a ransom to lure out your husband. They may be under the belief you know something and will try to interrogate you. Or, and if I understand Mu'ayyad correctly, he would use you as a trophy, as stolen goods from your husband, and from the Creed that tried to protect you and Mundhir."

I cringed. How… how _horrible_!

"Mu'ayyad is not to be trifled with." Al Din whispered. "If he wants to do something, by God, he will do it. I doubt that last attack will be the end, sadly, I fear there is more to come."

Something about all this made me a little giddy, though I don't really know why. Perhaps it was shock, hell I still don't know, or maybe fear, but I still felt just as empty, as hollow as I felt earlier.

And then… it built up to something new. I don't know what possessed me to do it, but gently clasped Altair's forearm, bringing his gaze down to me.

"You will protect me, will you not?"

He looked at me for sometime, though it was more like his gaze was focused on the inside of himself then straight at me. His eyes focused, catching mine again.

"It is my job."

Yes. Good. "_Altair _does _not, and _will _not fail." _This is his job.

I nodded, a soft look passing over my features then. "I trust you."

Al Din rose a grey brow, crossing his thin arms. "This will be no easy feat, I warrant you."

"Don't worry, Al Din," I said, smiling, "Altair does not, and will not fail."

A pause, an odd and calculating look, then he inclined his head.

Altair spoke. "She trusts you, so I must do the same. Your leads, how worthy are they?"

Al Din laughed. "Though I am old, I am no fool. When information is passed to me it is on good word."

Altair scathed. "Very well. Do not fail me old man. I sincerely hope my trust is not misplaced in you, for it shall be _your_ head to roll first if you betray us. Now _leave_."

And with that, he walked out of the room to the back, possibly to the roof again. Al Din made to leave, but I stopped him with a gentle hand.

"I'm making dinner, would you care to stay?"

He smiled, truly for the first time he stepped into this house, and a knowing hand went back to his chin. "It would be my pleasure. I have heard good things about your cooking skills."

"Then your sources _must_ be right." I beamed. "I am an _excellent_ cook."

I wasn't too sure, even still what exactly was going on. I promised myself I would ask Altair seriously about it tonight. But for the moment, I had a welcome guest, and a dinner to make, and one I was very happy to cook for.

It felt nice… to have someone familiar with me, who understood. Even in this crazy mess, I was glad Diya Al Din, of all people in Jerusalem, was so accepting of me.

* * *

**_Author's_** **_Notes_**: Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be more interesting than this, I promise, I know this one dragged on a bit, but in the next one, there is definetly some action!


	7. Healing Hands and the Runaway

**_Author's Notes:_** I am SO very sorry for the last chapter. I was horrendously stuck for ideas, and decided to give some insight to the plot (considering I haven't even revealed much). But, looking over it now, I kinda realised how simple the language was, and how just... well... badly structured it was, and whole heartedly agree that it wasn't as good as my original chapters. Humblest apologies, my friends.

On a lighter note, I got the mojo back for writing, and I'm happy with this chapter. Thanks very mcuh for all the constructive reviews, I have definetly taken heed of them, and for **Evee.Lynn**, God I only noticed that scentence when you pointed it out, and burst into embarrassed laughter! Thanks for finding it, oh god, the shame!

Again, the reviews were lovely, thanks so much to those reading, and to those following it! Teehee, I have my own little cult following!

****

**_Healing hands and the Runaway_**

I looked different.

In the bedroom, there was an old, slightly cracked and yellowing full-length mirror. It belonged to Mundhir's aunt, who gave it to us at out wedding, along with a sum of money which I later begged Mundhir to purchase Adham with.

There was a circular pattern of cracks at the top left hand corner, like frozen ripples in water, but deadly sharp. The mirror was marred when I fell against it, trying to avoid a swipe from Mundhir. It forever marred the mirror's beautiful sleek glass. I later learned to take what was given to me, be it a gift, or a punishment.

But I wasn't looking at the cracks or the missing panes of glass, I was plucking the waist of my dress, a rapt expression of worry creasing lines into my forehead.

I must have lost weight, I thought. Though I was slightly curvy before, now I seemed a little shapeless and skinny. Must be all the apprehension I've been feeling lately, and I've been refraining from buying as much food. Who knows how much longer Mundhir will be?

My brown eyes seemed to have lost their bright vibrancy, and now looked cloudy and dull.

I pulled at my face. Oh God, was that a _wrinkle_? I can't get wrinkles, I'm only in my early twenties! No, stop worrying! The more I worry, the deeper the lines get!

Huffing, I walked back to the bed, retrieving the bowl and wineskin bag of water I brought up minutes before. Leaning out the window to the back, I pushed them up on the roof, and awkwardly hauled myself up after it, scraping my shin rather painfully on the lip of the brickwork.

I hissed, brushing my dress off while looking around, half expecting to see Altair regarding me with raised eyebrows and folded arms.

But he wasn't there.

Looking around, I slowly walked about the roof, fingers brushing off the chimney, feet kicking up the dusty patches on the flat cover. No assassin, only a dull, late evening sky, a flock of crows soaring in the distance and an air that was unusually cold for a summer evening. I shivered momentarily.

I glanced over the edge of the roof, a hand reaching up absentmindedly to pull at my hair in wonder of where the man might be.

"What are you doing?"

He scared the piss out of me! I skittered, turning around too fast and lost my balance on my heels. With a yelp, my body fell slowly backwards over the edge, but a quick arm grabbed mine and pulled me upwards into a tight envelope of white robes and armour.

"It would be a shame if you died from a fall, after all I have done to protect you." Said the exasperated voice.

I was shaking, tightly fisting my hands in the soft material, heart pounding in fear and shock. My head was against the left side of his chest, the gentle thump of his heart calmed me a little. Catching my breath, he released me, after of course I nuzzled into the robes, his intoxicating smell was surprisingly addictive. But there was something else to his scent now, and it smelled like…

"Blood!" I exclaimed, pointing at his right arm. The serene white of the material was now an angry red patch, spreading fast, a broken arrow shaft poking out from the side of his bicep. His injured arm hung limply by his side, the other unconsciously clutching the forearm.

"… What happened?" I commanded, examining the wound with splayed fingers. The blood was flowing thick, I saw him wince when my fingers brushed the broken splint. He turned me with his free arm towards the right, to a roof on the far ground.

"An archer on the roof." He winced again, moving his shoulder. "He was watching this house, until I told him to leave."

The proof, a faint silhouette against the red brickwork of a house in the distance, slumped almost dog-like in his position, unmoving. I presumed he was dead, but I didn't want to know to be quite honest. The more ignorant I was about it, the better I could feel.

I looked away, sickened.

"Inside." I said. "Oh God, look at the _size_ of that arrow!"

"I will take care of the wound." He argued back half-heartedly, but I ignored his request and pushed him towards the roof edge. He complied wearily, and soon he was downstairs in the lounge while I was heating water and grinding salt, dock-leaves, vinegar and water into a paste.

I carried the mortar and pestle in with me, along with some rags and a basin of hot water. Throwing the strips into the steaming basin, I put the bowl on a nearby cushion and sat beside the bleeding man, who remained (probably trying his best to do so) to look indifferent.

I attempted to put my hands, to pressure the wound and tug the arrow from his flesh, but his free hand gently pushed mine away, tired eyes catching mine for a second, then closing tightly as he gripped the wood and pulled it free in a sickening, yet no less effective movement. A soft groan passed his mouth, but he bit it back behind his teeth in a hiss, tensing for several seconds, then relaxing.

"Here." I said softly, passing him a dry wrapping. He took it shakily, and put it to his wound. "Now, roll the sleeve up."

He did as requested while I lit some candles on the windowsill, fighting the dim light of early night time. I walked out to the kitchen, retrieving my sewing materials and returned to the lounge, Altair sitting with his back hunched, as tired as I have ever seen him. The candlelight against his back covered his hood-hidden face completely in shadow, and his sleeve was up to bare a blood covered arm.

Putting the needles and thread aside, I pulled over the basin to my feet, reaching in to grab a rag, the hot water stinging my hands as I shook off the liquid and gently removed his hand holding the wrapping.

"This may hurt…" I soothed, folding the soaked, steaming material and pressing it to the swollen wound. He tensed, hissing loud, teeth bared and breath escaping in a quick pant of agony, but he soon calmed. Adham, in his corner, eyed him suspiciously.

Keeping his eyes firmly on the floor, he flinched every so often when the hot water came into contact with his skin as I wiped the blood away and cleaned the wound. I, examining the injury, was lost in thought.

To be hidden under so many layers of clothing, Altair's skin was decidedly dark, though that could have easily been the low lighting. His arm and shoulder however, were marred with scar tissue. Old, faded white and grey ones, next to new, angry red and pink ones. All of them were slashes, some small, like arrow wounds, others wide and long, prolonged attacks. My fingers mapped the muscle, feeling it tense under my ghostly touch. He was warm, the skin wasn't soft, but smooth, calm.

Looking at his scarred arm made me wonder what the rest of him looked like.

Laying down the sodden rag, I took my needle and thread, cutting the fine string and putting it through the narrow needle head. I heated the metal over a candle, feeling the eyes examine my movement, then look back to the floor. Placing my thumbs around the wound, I smoothed the skin, warning him almost, and gently started to sew the skin together with fine stitches. He growled darkly, swallowing hard, but eventually relaxed.

"You seem to have done this before." He stated, though I personally thought he was talking simply to take him mind off the pain.

"Mmm, I have a few brothers. My mother would get me to help stitch them up when they got into fights, and the like."

Continuing my sewing, I winced when I felt the thread pull the tender flesh and gaping wound together. True, my three brothers would tear each other limb from limb when we were younger, and I was used to giving stitches, but that didn't make it any more of an enjoyable experience. Only two stitches were done, I crossed them over, cutting the fine thread and then heating the needle again.

"What about you?" I asked.

He hissed when the needle slipped through his skin again. I gently hushed him.

"Hmm?"

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

Altair got this… _look_ to him. His eyes seemed to darken, his brows furrowed for a second, calculating. He wasn't really looking at the floor, he was looking at himself, as only he could.

"… I don't remember." He said quietly, slowly.

I stiffened. "…Sorry." Flushed, I continued, cutting the thread at the fourth stitch and repeating my previous actions.

"I was in the Creed since I was but a child." He continued, looking at his left hand. "I don't remember much before that."

"Didn't you ever ask?" I said, putting the thread between my teeth when I just finished the fifth stitch.

"Once or twice. But I never felt the need for family."

"I see…" It mustn't be a touchy subject, considering he spoke so casually about it. But then, there wasn't much to tell. What is it like to be so sheltered like that? I loved my family, my elder sister and two older brothers, with my younger sister and brother. My caring mother, and my father. We were decidedly average, we were close, but not obscenely wealthy. We had enough to get by, by the skin of our teeth. I had so many fond memories, Acre in the summer with my eldest brother, cooking with my mother and sisters, staying up late at night with my father and catching fireflies. The jokes, the heartfelt moments, the smiles, the tears, the endless hours of talking, the acceptance of being part of something.

What is it like to… miss out on all of that? Did he have any childhood memories? Perhaps I am being ignorant, perhaps when he was a child he too would run and play, like any youth. He couldn't have been an assassin forever, after all.

Finishing the last stitch, I tied it in a knot, apologetically patting the skin when he winced. I tied it too tight.

"I've been meaning to ask you." I said, picking up the salve I made with dock-leaves. "Why is it that my husband had to leave?"

He turned to face me, so I could meet those beautiful, beautiful honey brown eyes, the ones that turned my insides to hot candle wax. Though something was missing from them, and it only took me a second to realise how tired he looked. No, not tired, _exhausted_, even his body was wan. How much sleep did he get?

"I was not told." He said simply. "It is my job to protect you, and gather information. That is all."

I spread the sticky substance along my index finger. "Surely, you must know something."

Scoffing, with my free hand I grabbed the steaming cloth, wiping away blood that continued to seep through. At least the swelling was reduced, I just hoped the salve would stop an infection.

"Mu'ayyad was an informant to the Creed at one poi- that _hurts_!" He jerked his arm away when I tried to dress the cut. I muttered apologies, urging him to continue, which he did after a cold, yet unmistakably tired glare. "… At one point."

I could sense the fact that he didn't want me to dress the wound, but of course, that didn't stop me. It made sense, all those scars meant he probably healed all his own wounds, or just left them until they healed by themselves.

But finding out a little about his past brought attention to the fact that he may not _want _anyone to help him, let alone a foolish woman from Jerusalem. Tense, cautious, he adopted these traits around others, and sometimes me, but I wondered now if the _real_ Altair is any different. I wouldn't call him cold, not that, he has some semblance of compassion. He is closed however, I sensed he rarely opened up to people, if any at all. I felt special, I was probably one of the very few people he has ever spoken to "openly".

Then again, he may not like others trying to help him because he is arrogant, self centred and controlling. It was rather endearing, helping him like this, _slightly _against his own will.

Dare I say, it was rather cute…

He bit down hard on his lip when I spread the mixture along the stitches of the gash, then continued. "I know the Grand Master received word on good faith that Mu'ayyad came across an artefact of some importance, and paid the man handsomely to deliver it. But, Mu'ayyad is a dangerous criminal who works only for himself, and saw fit to defy my Master, taking the money, and the artefact with him."

Rubbing the slave in, I put the bowl down, wiping my finger on the bloody rag, and taking the last strip of material from the hot water, wringing it out thoroughly.

"That doesn't explain how my husband fits into all of this. Lift your arm, please."

He lifted his arm obediently, and I wrapped the damp material around the thick bicep, my heart fluttering when the muscle flexed under the taut skin.

Easy girl… Curse my thoughts. Lord forgive me.

"Your husband is the head of the trade routes, is he not? The Creed sought his help, to make sure Mu'ayyad did not defy us and would deliver the crate when asked. After a week, your husband must have known the crate would not arrive, and reported to us. His leads however, still surprised me. I doubt even Al Mualim expected him to be so well connected with Jerusalem's underground. He quickly found out how dangerous Mu'ayyad could be, and used _you_ to gain access through Al Mualim, as you may very well remember."

Oh yes, I remembered. I seethed, recalling how embarrassed and betrayed I felt when my husband lied, so blatantly without even warning me beforehand. He was a snake, that man, easily sliding out of harm's way while the other's around him take the blame. It was disgusting, one of Mundhir's worst traits…

How dare I think of him like that. I mentally slapped myself. He is in danger, and I am scorning him to the heavens. Yes, he did put himself and I in danger, but now he was God knows where, risking his life to fix it. That was admirable, and one of the very few acts of heroism I have ever witnessed from the man.

Altair however, killed people to stop them from harming me. He _killed_… why am I even thinking about it? Lord, stop me, please.

"Yes, Mundhir sure has his ways." I said, tying a knot in the damp material. He nodded dully, left hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose for a few seconds, and I watched.

Turning to me, he took a breath and parted his lips, as if he wanted to say something. "Do you…" but he trailed off, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. Confused, I stared. He looked so fatigued and worn-out. It _pained_ me to look at him like that.

He made to get up, but I gently tugged him back down by his hand. "Rest, Altair. You're tired."

Shaking his head, he looked at me wearily, and argued. "If more men are to come, what then?"

"Then better you be in good shape, to fight them off. Be sure, I will wake you if I find my life in any mortal peril. Rest now…" I said soothingly, my hand on his shoulder. He swallowed, pulling his sleeve back down, it was still covered in his blood. Part of him probably wanted to argue, but I could see the physical part of him crying out for sleep, and it looked as though that part was winning.

I grasped his knee before getting up and taking the bowls, water, and materials to the kitchen. After cleaning them out, I returned to find him slumped, lying lengthways across the pile of cushions, his long legs out.

Adham yawned widely, and tucked his head in beneath his tail, drifting off to sleep.

Altair's eyes drooped, almost against his will and soon he too nodded off. I went upstairs, grabbed my blanket, went back downstairs and draped it over him, I could sleep without it tonight. He peeked an eye open at me, dull and tired, and as if to turn the tables, I sat beside him as he had when he comforted me.

"Is your arm alright?"

"I am not a child." He replied, but he looked so gaunt, so tired, he was almost reduced to pouting at me. Almost. I chuckled, he _sounded_ like a child. He plucked weakly at the blanket. "Is this not yours?"

"I can do without it tonight. Now rest, damn you." I whispered. When I tried to get up, his right hand grasped my wrist.

"Wha-"

"You sleep here." He grumbled. "So I can keep an eye on you. I sleep like the dead, so I highly doubt you could wake me…"

I raised my eyebrows at him, but he was already drifting off into slumber. I too was very tired, and felt somewhat jealous. Impatient, he tugged briefly on my arm. I sighed, my heart pounding at his demand, and me actually having the nerve to do it, and climbed under the duvet beside him.

He shifted, his left arm entwining around my waist, and I blushed heavily when he pulled me close, a shiver passing over him. He must be cold. I prayed it wasn't because the arrow wound was infected.

Curling up against him, I quickly relaxed, still unable to believe this was really happening, and unsure if I should be so happy about it or not.

"You mustn't get much sleep, Altair."

He mumbled something incoherent, eyes still closed, hood _still_ up, and yet he looked so peaceful. A rare thing to see, from this man.

His breathing grew deep soon enough, and I tentatively reached out, cupping his loose jaw. So smooth…

He breathed in deep, turning his head so it was tucked between the juncture of my neck and shoulder. The rush of air made me shiver when it was sent in waves over my collar. The only other time we've been this close was…

But it was different now. My thumb was playing circles on his chin, stubble, coarse, but strong. Altair was just so… so handsome. I sighed contentedly, warm, glad to have this moment, just for me.

I wondered, could this be one of the first times he's ever held someone like this? Warmly? And have that person hold him back?

I slid my palm up his jaw, to his hair, watching the curve of my fingers underneath the hood. This close, I could see his features in all their symmetrical glory. The strong, sloping brow, the defiant chin that jutted out and curved downward, the straight nose, his hooded eyelids. The stubble, though unkempt, gave him an almost impossibly rugged look, and it suited him to the ends of the earth. His lips were perfect, smooth, calm, bow shaped and curved and soft. One of the few things about him that was actually soft.

I kissed the top of the hood, curling my knees under, praying as I always did before I fell asleep.

But there was no pleading with God for forgiveness this time. Now, I told God how grateful I was for this moment, this warmth, this act of utter selflessness. I asked him to protect those I love, for guidance, for help, and I think I was about to confess my sins again.

But I fell asleep.

* * *

I awoke some hours later, in total darkness. Squinting through the black, nothing. I could only barely make out the dull silvery moonlight cascading through the window, it hurt my eyes and I looked away. I think I heard a noise, but I was too tired to register it.

Figuring I must have turned over, my back was to Altair, who draped an arm securely around my waist. His grip tightened, pulling me closer against his chest, unusually still and silent.

I was about to sleepily ask what was wrong, when I heard it. A quick rapping on my front door, and a quiet murmuring.

I tried to gasp, but his right hand covered my mouth and pulled my head back, so his lips were beside my ear.

"Not a sound." He barely whispered, breath shuddering against the shell of the soft cartilage. Eyes wide, but seeing nothing, I glanced around the room, shaking harshly when another knock, more urgent this time, sounded against the door. I half expected to hear Adham bark and jump up, baring the hall, but there was no sound at all other than my petrified breaths rasping through my nose against Altair's hand, and the gentle murmur of the voices outside.

A quiet noise of a blade sliding against leather beside me, and I knew he had his weapon bared, tense, ready to jump if they chose to come inside. But there was nothing.

I heard footsteps, they faded away along with the faint mumbling of voices until it was deathly silent again. I was shaking, the hand around my mouth detached and let go, blade sinking back into it's recess. The hold around me loosened, but it was still just as protective. I could feel his chest against my back, pressing with every breath he took.

"Sleep." He said, confined, restricted with fatigue.

I felt his fingers curl in my robes, nose against my ear. Uneasily, I closed my eyes, jumping every so often when I heard a noise from outside, but he was right there beside me, warm and wonderfully alive.

I fell back to sleep, a nose nuzzling gently into my hair, a jaw against the top of my head.

* * *

Adham was lost.

_Lost!_

I woke in the morning, sleepily rubbing my eyes, wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets and pillows. Altair was gone, but the warmth beside me suggested he had not been for long.

I got up, out of habit looking around the kitchen expecting Adham to greet me with a wagging tail and an empty stomach, pawing at the door for leave outside, but there was no dog here, and as I searched (growing more frantic by the minute) I saw nothing to point me in the direction of my faithful hound.

Sticking my head out the window, I hissed at Altair, asking if he had seen him.

"Is the mutt not in the lounge?" He replied, with a biting edge showing his obvious disapproval of Adham and his protective nature. That wasn't very fair however, the dog had warmed up and calmed dramatically in the past few days.

"I have to find him!" I said determinedly, running up to my bedroom and pulling on a clean dress, quickly brushing my hair and running back down just as Altair walked through the backdoor.

And sure enough, he followed as I practically ran into town, searching hopefully for a bark, a streak of black fur, anything to indicate he was still on this _planet_. Oh Lord, how could he have gotten outside? I didn't leave the doors open, could he have pawed open on of the windows and climbed out? Even still, why? Could he not just bark if he wanted attention?

I trekked on, my sandaled feet carrying me to the market place. Despite the decidedly cold night, the morning was warm and sunny, with the merest trace of grey cloud threatening to fall over the horizon. I glanced down alleyways, turned corners I've never even considered turning before, endless winding corridors of stone and people.

Spotting Al Din's stall, he called my name, and I ran over to him.

"Al Din!" I exclaimed, slightly out of breath. "Have you seen my dog, Adham?"

He shook his head, his wispy hair oddly still, the little beard he was sporting waved slightly. "No, pet. But I will keep an eye out."

God, Jerusalem was a huge town! And dogs were not exactly loved by everyone. If Adham may have strayed across the path of say, a group of Templars or thugs… I didn't want to think about it.

My feet carried me to the back of the butchers, the stench of decaying meat a ferocious ardour against the wall and the shop. Fadil was outside, emptying a bucket of something decidedly disgusting looking into the stone alleyway. I crinkled my nose.

"Fadil, you know of my dog, don't you?" I asked, wringing my hands as his narrow eyes scanned me in surprise.

"Yeah? Somethin' wrong, 'lil lady?" A wide, lecherous grin spread across his face and I flinched.

"He's missing." His grin faded when he saw my worried expression, and he put down the bucket. "Please, have you seen him?"

He patted his rotund belly in a thoughtful way, narrow eyes furrowing in concentration. Though Fadil can be quite the sickening man, he cared about people, and took heed of their words. He didn't look very smart, but there was a different sort of intelligence to him, a street-smart sort of nature learned through dealing with people.

"Haven' seen him, but if I do I'll keep 'im in the shop, 'till you arrive. How's that sound?"

"That would be wonderful!" I smiled gratefully and bowed low to him in thanks.

"Off with yeh, chicken. Go look fer yer mutt." And with that he continued the emptying of buckets with a sigh. I moved off in my desperate search.

A good hour passed, and still no sign of my dog. I tried calling his name, earning peculiar stares from the passer-bys, I looked down seemingly every alleyway, every winding path, but still nothing. I slumped against a wall of the docks near the river in defeat. My heart was heavy, my head was sore and my legs were tired. A sense of dread passed over me, thinking I may never see my wonderful dog again. I looked for Johara and the rest at the well, but no one I knew personally was there. Nothing from Al Din, or Fadil… God, please let me find him.

Perhaps Fadil will come through for me, and find my dog.

It was then through my worried musings, I spotted a familiar woman walking down the dirt path towards me.

Wincing when I realised it was Aludra, I quickly composed myself, praying for the absence of another argument. Her argumentative mouth was the very last thing I needed, and I was worried and riled enough to turn around and hit her hard should she provoke me. Not only that, but her friend Farrah and her annoyingly high laugh near busted my eardrums the last time I heard it.

But Farrah wasn't with her this time, which struck me as rather odd considering I have never seen one without the other. She was alone, her gaze _solely_ on me today, clad in a billowing sky blue dress, satin by the lustrous shine, her ears sporting large, gold hoops and an array of colourful jewellery decorating her hands.

Though she seemed… she seemed a little frightened, or apprehensive by the looks of it. Her finely plucked brow furrowed in my direction as she approached, mouth in a hard line, hands stiff and still by her sides where as usual they would be swinging, tinkling her jewellery. Her eyes were wide, a grimace plucked at her lacquered lips for a second.

Her approach was slow, gold sandaled feet carrying her dainty form warily, as she regarded me. Halting, she rose a hand to her mouth, her eyes on mine a fair few feet away. I looked with curiosity, as her eyes shined with a foreign emotion. She shook her head, cringed, biting her long nails and quickly walked away. I followed inquisitively.

"Aludra, wait!" I have never, _ever_ seen the woman look like that before. Not once! Something terrible must have happened.

But before I caught up, a familiar booming bark caught my attention. I quickly turned, spotting a black streak dart out from an alleyway and instantly took off down the narrow street, devoid of people.

"Adham!" I called. "Adham, where are you?"

Running down the alley, my foot glanced off a protruding stone, and I stumbled slightly but quickly caught my balance. It turned to a sharp corner, and I followed, calling.

"Adham! Ad-"

I stopped dead in my tracks when I was greeted with a dead end, nothing but old, decaying lumber and paper, stones covered in lime-scale and dirt.

Impossible, I could have sworn…?

With a sense of foreboding, I walked down the alley, my fingers to the greasy wall, as if searching for a hidden door of some sort, but I was just being foolish. How on earth…?

He wasn't here, it must have just been my imagination. I turned to leave, walked back down and was just about to round the corner, when I heard it.

A thump, followed by another, and just as I whirled around to find the source of the noise, an ear splitting bang of metal. Altair must have jumped from the roof, a guard following suit with him and now the two stood sword to sword.

Altair pushed the man back, sword ringing through the air, but it was blocked quickly by the guard's own and he used the inertia of the defence to push the assassin back. Two more men followed off the roof, landing on squatted feet and quickly straightening up, swords raised, one had a crossbow. These were no ordinary guards.

Their gazes turned to me, and I instantly backed away, my blood freezing in my veins, hands raised defensively. So cold, men with dead eyes and heavy faces covered in dark hoods, chain mail clinking with every step.

"_Though I am sure Aludra's husband, the fish monger is connected through the channels with him…"_

_Oh, fuck…_

"What are you waiting for?" Altair shouted at me, jerking me from my terrified trance. "_Run_!"

And that's just what I did. I ran. Fucking hell I ran for my life. And I've never sworn so much in my head before, but I was sure God would forgive me. Shivers tore up my back when I heard the thump of metal behind me as the guards followed, running too. I tried to ignore the sudden pained groan behind me, I couldn't tell if it was Altair or not, but I hoped-

_Three_ guards chose that exact moment to appear at the end of the alley when I was but feet away from it. Skidding to a stop, I tried to turn and run back, but one of them grabbed me tightly about the waist and lifted me upwards.I shrieked, struggling ferociously, kicking out with my legs, but the man's grip was strong, pinning my arms to my sides.I swung my foot just as one of the guards attempted to grab my legs, and kicked him hard across his head with a loud _thunk_. I jerked my head back, painfully banging it against the man holding me and he let me drop with a shout of pain.

Disorientated, I stumbled and made to get away, but was pinned against the wall on my front, my jaw cracking when it connected hard with the stone. Two of the guards grabbed my arms, their growls of annoyance rumbling darkly beneath their chest plates.

I whimpered, struggling hard in a vain attempt to get away, until a sharp blow connected with my head, blinding me, and I thought no more.

The world went dark, as I passed out, seeing stars.

* * *

**_Author's notes:_** (gasp!) This can't be... another cliffhanger?!!! NOOOOO!!! Thanks for reading and the like!


	8. Whiplash

**_Author's Notes:_** Ooooooh, I'm on a HUGE writing buzz recently, and it doesn't seem to be calming down anytime soon! YUS!!

Reviews, as always, were wonderful. Thanks so much for all your compliments, hints, and helpful critisisms!

**Warning**: Please, take heed that the following chapter is quite violent.

****

**_Whiplash_**

I vaguely remember rolling in and out of consciousness. I could feel a soft sway beneath me, from my point of view I seemed to be on the floor somewhere as my eyes fluttered open, catching voices, salt air drifting into my nose. At first I felt nothing, and became unconscious again.

But the next time I woke, my head was exploding in agony.

I groaned, eyelids heavy as I opened them and swayed as I tried to get up. The floor was stone, dirty and covered in grime; like the walls, a dark pewter grey. I was face first on the floor, my hands against the damp, grimy tiles.

Chains rattled when I moved my hands, pulling my wrists down before I could touch my face to brush my hair from my eyes. I was cold, dirty, the cracked feeling of dried blood in my hair against my back. Everywhere ached, my right shoulder was throbbing insistently, knees tingling from lack of blood flow due to my squatted position, my jaw felt as though it was _at least _two inches to the left. I groaned again, in pain.

There was a dark wooden door some feet in front of me. A metal shutter slid back from the top corner, eyes peeking through at me, then sliding shut again with a snap. I looked down at the floor, squinting my eyes shut when a hot stab of pain jolted through my brain, my neck struggling to keep my heavy head upright. Clenching my teeth, I tried to will the pain away and concentrate on where I was and how I got here, but I could only barely remember what happened.

Instead, I chose to focus on the sound of water dropping from the ceiling in a rhythmic _plink_, until I found my wits.

Keys rattled, and the door swung open on creaky hinges. I shakily raised my head, a bulky man dressed in shining armour entered, flanked by two guards with faces hidden beneath helms. The man looked far too pasty to be a resident of the Holy Land, his cheeks burned red, fair haired and freckled, but with a stony expression and deep set wrinkles.

"Enjoying the accommodations?" He sneered, and though he spoke in perfect Arabic, there was something distinctly different about his accent. He was foreign, that much was certain. I looked down, unable to think of a suitable answer.

His worn, calloused hands took a slender cane from the guard on the right, and I eyed it nervously. "There are two ways we can do this." He said, tapping the flat of the thin wood in his hand, pacing the small room. "I will ask you questions. You can either answer me when I ask, or you can say nothing, and I can _beat_ the answer out of you." As if to prove his point, he slapped the stick against the floor and I flinched.

A grin slid easily over his thin mouth, pleased with my reaction, and my heart thudded fiercely as he paced, eyes on me, cold and grey.

"Now, tell me woman, you are the wife of Mundhir Nidal-Amir, are you not?"

I nodded dully, a lump sticking in my throat, unable to speak. Noise was however, forced out of my mouth when he snapped the cane across my left shoulder and I yelped, my hands wringing against the chains to pat the stinging skin.

"Words, if you please." He hissed.

"Y-yes," I stammered, tears burning my eyes, "I am h-his wife-"

"Whose wife…?" He waved the cane threateningly, and I was shaking in terror and sharp stabbing pain.

"Mu-Mundhir Nidal-… Amir."

"Very good."

Pacing again, he tapped the cane against the plate of armour on his knee, eyes rapt with boredom, his nose in the air. His plated boots clinked off the stone, echoing painfully in my head.

"Tell me, woman. What do you know of your husband's involvement with Mu'ayyad?"

My mind, foggy and disorientated, fought hard to remember the information relayed to me over the past few weeks about my husband. Something about the Creed, Al Mualim, a crate to deliver…?

Jumping badly when the cane whacked against the wall, I stumbled over my words, terrified. "A-Al Mualim, the assassins paid my husband to receive the crate from Mu'ayyad. But it was n-never delivered and Mundhir in-informed the Creed to-"

I stopped the instant he started tutting and shaking his head. "Tell me something I _don't_ know."

I bit my lip, head down, searching the filthy floor for some answers, anything to help me, but my thoughts were reduced to a pained, buzzing mess, burning and aching. The floor was covered in marks, some of them looked like the recoil of a whip crack, grooves that could have easily been swordplay. Bloodstains, blackened by time were next to fresher, red and brown ones. How many people have been in this same position?

The man sighed, tapping the cane impatiently in his hand, rolling his grey eyes to the heavens. "I see you don't quite understand. No matter, I shall ask a more specific question." He paused, twirling the strip fondly between his fingers, eyes still on mine. "How did Mundhir come to know of Mu'ayyad?"

"Did the assassin Master not bid him for help?" I hazarded, looking upwards pleadingly.

Tracing the edge of the cane across my cheek, he tapped it lightly against my nose while I desperately searched my thoughts. "Not unless they knew he was somehow connected to illegal trading in Jerusalem."

Who else could possibly know of the man, I thought. My husband told me nothing, of his work, of his friends or close acquaintances, so how would I of all people know? The only people I would know of is Diya Al Din, Hassan (Johara's husband) and Aludra's…

Abdul-Matin, Aludra's husband…

"I grow impatient woman." He said threateningly, raising the stick upwards.

"Wait!" I cried. "Abdul-Matin, the fish monger! H-he has connections through the rivers, does he not?"

The guard gave an exasperated roll of his eyes and crossed his arms, his voice becoming higher and louder by the minute. "Abdul is a trusted tradesman of Mu'ayyad. There is no real reason for him to tell your husband other than general amusement, and I highly doubt he is _that _sort of man."

My mouth went dry, my hands sweating and clammy against the cool tiles. He stood to my right, jerking his shoulders back and rolling his head, to crack his neck. I gazed fearfully, mouth open, eyes pleading for mercy and stomach doing somersaults into my insides.

"Last chance." He said, raising the cane above my back, a gleam of anticipation in his cold eyes. "Who are your husband's leads?"

I didn't know. I didn't even understand the _question_. I was shaking, my eyes wide and fearfully glaring at the wood, mouth open in confusion and terror.

"I… I don't know…" I croaked, voice restrained.

He looked down at me, with something akin to delight. "That is _not_ an answer."

There was a swish and a hard crack as the cane slapped across my shoulder blades, and I cried out, first a numb feeling travelling over my spine until it grew unbearably hot and stung like a thousand needles. Every part of me burned.

"How is your husband associated with us?" He snarled at me, cane raised again, but the answer was still the same.

"I-I d-don't-"

Another swish-_crack_ and burning red welt searing across my spine and shoulders. I yelped in pain, tears threatening to fall, but I clenched my teeth, bracing myself. I knew nothing of this, so there was no real way to break me down into telling the truth, if I didn't _know_ the truth. I decided I must be strong, I must endure, because if I break, there will be nothing left of me.

"How did Mundhir know our stronghold of Damascus?"

"…I d-d-"

And again, he hit me hard along the base of my neck and shoulders. My breath came painfully from my lungs in quick pants, winded, elbows failing for a second, my chest hit the ground hard, but I managed to shakily raise my torso up again.

"You know something woman, be out with it!" He bellowed. "How does your husband know of us?"

"My husband t-tells me n-nothing-" I rasped, but he interrupted me again.

"You _liar_!" He hissed, swiftly bringing the cane back to meet my twitching shoulders.

It continued for what seemed like an age. He swore vicious obscenities at me, spat at me, with every unanswered question he roared, slapping the wood across my back. I've never known such pain, not even when my elder brother was training with his sword out in the field, and I had chosen that exact moment to step in his path.

God, I missed them. My brothers, my sisters, my mother and father.

My breath tumbled from my mouth in yelps, dry sobs and cries of blinding pain, eyes clenched shut, my ribs protesting sharply as I tried to defiantly hold myself up. I couldn't breathe, I could barely think through the burning ache and contrast of icy numbness tearing through my spine, all my physical strength was used solely to hold myself upright. My clenched jaw was throbbing dully when I clamped my teeth together.

The only way I could think of sparing my sanity and moving my thoughts elsewhere was by praying. I recited old prayers again and again in my head, over and over. My fingernails scratched at the floor at a particularly hard snap of the cane, and a verse of my prayer tumbled out of my mouth in a horrified cry.

"God won't help you now." He sneered at me, and again asked me more questions I couldn't answer.

Every inch of my skin was on fire, and as my wandering thoughts wavered, I pray for someone, anyone to help me. I prayed and prayed, Altair the last thought coming to mind, and when I did think of him, I couldn't find anything else.

Begging God, I asked him to send Altair a sign, anything to indicate I was alive, and I wasn't ready to die, not yet, not now when I was getting so close to him it hurt me just _thinking_ about it…

"_You will protect me, will you not?"_

"_It is my job."_

I wondered what Mundhir was doing now? Was he in as much pain as I was? Every bit of this, every pound of that cane was a reminder of how this was all my husband's doing. The men killed in my house. Adham going missing. My own paranoia of the people I used to be able to trust, to call my friends. My kidnap and _this_ torture.

And for once, I didn't apologise for thinking these wicked thoughts, because it was _true…_

I think… just a little part of me was starting to get angry. I could feel my face heating up, every snarled question fell deaf upon my ears. My jaw tightened, I ground my teeth at yet another vicious swipe of the cane, eyes glaring at the floor as my breath weakly rasped past my lips.

"I'll ask you again." He spat. "Who are your husband's leads?"

"I don-"

The swish-_snap_ once again met the tender flesh of my back. I clenched my jaw.

"Is he planning to kill Mu'ayyad?"

"I don't know-"

Again, another hit.

"You are a fool, girl. Answer me!"

My left elbow failed, sending me downwards in a shuddering motion, my still braced arm shaking violently as my hands clutched at the filthy tiles. My knees and legs felt cold, unmoving, deprived of blood flow from my current position.

He raised the cane again. "What is your husband planning-"

"_I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!_" I shrieked, throwing my head up and glaring at him, tears finally spilling fourth from my stinging eyes, my shoulders searing in agony. The guards near the door shifted, looking to each other and shaking their heads.

The man sighed, folding his arms at me as though I were nothing more than a disobedient child. His pale face darkened, eyes hidden under shadow when he stared me down, smirking positively predatory. "It seems you do not know your place, woman."

Her passed the cane to the guards by the door. "Get her up."

Wordlessly, they approached me as the man stood back, watching from the door as they hauled me up, chains and all. I struggled weakly, my shoulders protesting as I was turned around, back to the door and my arms were raised above my head. They lifted me so I was standing barely on my toes, and looped the chains binding my hands around a hook on the ceiling. I fearfully looked up at it, heart thumping wildly. I could feel my pulse beat in my wrists against the chains.

The guards stood back as the man approached, and he was behind me. I flinched, gasping as a knife ran slowly, lazily down the back of my dress and ripped the material. Whimpering, he bunched the sleeves impatiently around my shoulders, hands the complete opposite of gentle against my throbbing back.

Eyes wide in disbelief, he ran the flat of the cold knife alongside my overheated skin, and chuckled.

"Now you will learn the consequences," he whispered darkly, pulling my hair, "of disrespecting a man like that."

He stepped back, as if to revel in my moment of quaking terror, and I could only stare at the filthy wall, flinching at the soft tap of hard material hitting the floor.

It was after that I realised how much more painful the whip was, compared to the cane.

* * *

I must have fallen unconscious, because when I woke up, I was more tired than I have ever been in my _life_.

Just lying there, trying desperately to gather my thoughts, I was highly confused as to where I was and how I got here. First of all, I was warm, and very comfortable. A soft, feathery mattress supported my back, my head sunk into a squishy cotton pillow.

Cracking my eyes open, I was greeted by a room decorated in rich drapery, whites and creams, an open window allowing the balmy summer air through, fluttering the thin butter coloured curtains. From my position, I could see the room extended, but I could only see the top of a dresser and wardrobe, the headboard of the bed I was lying on, and the open window.

Could it just have been a dream…?

Trying to raise myself upwards, I quickly realised it definitely _wasn't _a dream when my back stung ferociously, scabs from recent wounds cracking. I groaned, my throat parched and dry. Ceasing movement, I fell back down, my stomach twisted in hunger, my arms weak and heavy.

I glanced down, noticing my clothes had been divested and now I wore (a particularly beautiful) dark red dress and shawl with fine gold embroidery. It did however, show off far too much of my chest, and I whimpered quietly at the sudden realisation that not only had someone dressed me, but had to _undress_ me before doing so.

Either way, I felt cleaner, the faint smell of summer air and aromatic soap drifting about me, my hair soft against my face, it had been curled, brushed, even _styled_, so the soft waves fell about in tresses of dark brown. I would have felt appreciative, if not terrified by the lack of knowledge of where, when, and how I got here in the first place.

What in the name of God was going on…?

I heard movement, and turned my head towards it, eyes tearing away from the ceiling painted an odd ochre colour.

"She wakes. (1)" Drawled a cool, deep Arabian voice from the foot of the bed. I heard the shuffling of his footsteps as he drew nearer, and a tall, darkly tanned man came into my line of sight. His mahogany hair was messy and tousled, cinnamon eyes roving over me for a second, accessing me, then closing when he smiled down kindly. A handsome man, but something was off.

I didn't trust him.

"You are comfortable, I hope?" He sat his bulky form gently down beside me, the bed creaking with his added weight, eyes not moving from mine.

My throat was too parched to answer, so I nodded, cautiousness etched into my brow. He laughed.

"Why so serious?" He got up, offering me a hand upwards. I hesitated, taking it gingerly as he gently pulled me to a sitting position. His hand reached up to scratch as his curly brown goatee for a minute, then reached across.

Passing me a bowl of water, he laughed dryly again when I clasped the pottery eagerly and quickly gulped down the cold, satisfyingly wet liquid. I watched as he walked towards the window, gazing fondly out into the unknown city below. Biting his lip, he held his hands behind his back, light coloured robes billowing with the breeze. I perched the bowl on the edge of the bed, uncomfortable as my back was still sore, and very tired.

"Where am I?" I asked quietly, wringing my fingers in my lap.

"You are in Damascus." He stated simply, turning to face me. Gesturing for me to come over, I looked at him hesitantly, then looked away and got up, approaching the window with cautious reverence. My back was on fire, and he noticed me wincing with every movement.

"My apologies." He said. "Gareth has a tendency to be rough."

I sniffed, silent. He was obviously referring to the man who lashed me in that stone room earlier.

God, what was wrong with me? It was like I wasn't even alive. This horrible, floating, drifting feeling stayed stubbornly in my chest, making it seem like I wasn't even part of this world anymore. I felt empty, emotionless, _brooding_ dare I say it. Almost as if I was trying to harden myself to the world, expecting an attack.

Much like Altair. Lord, where is he?

"Who are you?" I asked stiffly.

"It doesn't matter." He answered, aloof.

Walking away from the window, he made his way to the back of the room, to a large wooden desk on top of which perched paper, ink bottles, quills and many gold ornaments in curling designs.

I looked away from him, glancing out the window to the city. The terracotta gleamed back at me in the sun, a city of bright colours, bustling people and, just like Jerusalem, full of guards and traders. I was high up, in a tower possibly as I looked down along the walls of a small, yet unmistakeably impressive castle. Rolling turrets and high, thick stonework hiding slim archers.

Stiffly, I made my way back to the bed, taking a second to appreciate the soft cotton of the duvet, and turned to face the man, twirling a gold coin between his fingers. He gazed at the metal with a fondness I've only seen once or twice before, and it could only be described as an insatiable _obsession_…

Catching my prying eyes, he slowly made his way towards me, coin dancing between the digits. "No doubt you would want to ask me some questions, but for the moment, let me just give you the summary."

He placed the coin in his pocket after looking rapturously at it, and continued. "Firstly, you are here because you have something of value. Yes… at first your husband was but a mere annoyance to me, but now he is really starting to _grate_ on my nerves, and quite frankly I am tired of it. Secondly, I apologise for my guard rough handling you, someone so…" He eyes travelled over me, and I instinctually crossed my arms over my scantily clad chest, "_pretty_, should not have been treated in such a manner."

My cheeks burned, and no doubt he could see at as a smile slid easily over his mouth. I felt sickened, not just by the way he was looking at me, but with everything. Every damn thing that has happened so far, can nothing go right? Who was this man, and what did he want? Why was I so angry?

I could feel my rage starting to build, no matter how much I tried to control it. But I was frightened as well, terrified in fact, of this man I didn't know, speaking so informally to me as though I were a long lost friend, but looking at me like I was a piece of meat. I edged away, too scared to meet his gaze, though I could feel the brown eyes looking down on me, smouldering.

"How did I get here?" I asked, quietly.

He snickered. "Surely you remember _how_. Though that assassin proved rather troublesome, we got you here in the end."

My eyes widened, and he noticed with a grin. "Ah yes, one of Al Mualim's trusted students. He managed to take a good number of my men before they eventually overpowered him."

"What did you do to him?" I hissed.

"I?" He said, with sarcastic incredulity. "Why, my lady, _I _have done nothing. We took him with us, as we did you, but of course, he put up much more of a struggle than _you _managed to. Though, if you ask me, you should be more worried about your husband, than the killer."

I turned my head away from him, as though I had been slapped hard across the face. He… he didn't understand what I've been through these past few weeks. All the pain and sacrifice and worry, I was just about ready to tare my hair out. How dare he say such a thing, as if to mock my anxiousness for the man who promised to protect me.

But my face softened, and I bit down into my tongue. God, were they doing the same to Altair as they did to me?

He didn't need more scars, not on my behalf.

The man beside me seemed to find my reaction hilarious. "Oh, now what is this?" He sneered. "Could that be genuine concern for the assassin? This is just too _priceless_! And so the beautiful maiden falls in love with her lowly protector, how very fairytale of you-"

"Why am I here? For you to make fun of me?" I snorted. "Haven't you done enough?"

His expression fell for a second, eyes blank and unreadable, his hands lowered by his sides. It unnerved me, until he smiled again, showing white teeth, baring overlarge canines at me like an ravenous animal. It reminded me of a story my father told me about the crocodile, and how his sneering mouth was used to lure in prey, it's white teeth gleaming, a grin so carnivorous and well hidden; anyone could fall for it's cleverly laid trap. But I knew better, I wasn't the helpless victim falling into serrated jaws, and I refused to let that grin lure me.

"I suppose I owe you that." He began to pace, twirling his goatee around his finger. "I suppose you already know why you're here. You know something, something related to your husband that we need to know. I do believe Gareth used the wrong method of asking you, so I had you brought up here, cleaned, dressed, and comfortable."

"That… _guard_, has already asked me plenty of questions, and I don't know the answers."

Sympathetically, he glanced at me and sat down on the bed, patting the space beside him. I reluctantly followed, sitting on the edge rather, uncomfortable.

"Come now," he said, "no whips or chains in here, right? All we need to know is how your husband found out about us, and from whom."

My lower lip quivered, eyebrows twitching. I was so confused and annoyed with this. I, in all honesty, didn't know anything, and I didn't even know enough to use my imagination and lie. How would I possibly know? All I do is cook, clean and sew. Nothing more. Mundhir rarely speaks of work, rarely speaks to me at all in fact. I am merely a tool, so why should I know of these things? I wrung my hands in my lap, defeated, worn out, fed up with this mess.

"Please," I looked up at him, eyes watering, begging for him to believe me, to understand, "I don't know anything about this. You must believe me when I say I honestly have no idea what is going on here. I don't even know where my husband _is_."

He threw me a pitying glance. "Let's try this a different way. I'll ask you a question, and you answer what you know, alright?"

Though I didn't agree at all, it's not like I had much of a choice, and there was something about this man I didn't trust. I could tell he was fake, lying through his teeth as though to keep me at ease, but it wasn't working, I could read it better than he thought I could.

He wasn't giving me much credit. Talking to me like a child wasn't helping.

I nodded dully.

"Good. Now, I understand that your husband was paid by Al Mualim to receive a crate, yes?" I inclined my head, and he continued. "Do you have any idea how your husband found out about this crate?"

"No," I said, "it is my husband's job to run the trade routes, he tells me nothing of his work."

"I see. Your husband is quite connected with the traders in Jerusalem, more connected in fact, than one would presume for a head-tradesman. So, no doubt you have seen some of his criminal activity, correct?"

I bit my lip. Yes, though I have seen snippets of situations to lead one to believe that my husband was of ill deed, I have never actually seen him involved in such acts.

"There have been… times when I thought my husband may be included in illegal trading, but I have never personally seen him doing such."

The man chuckled softly and rose from the bed. "You are _quite_ the woman, do you know that? Dutiful to the very end, even under torture you still utterly refuse to speak. How… honourable, and yet foolish."

"It is the truth!" I cried, standing up to face him. "Not a single person here will believe me. Why?"

He narrowed his eyes, folding his arms. "Even now, you lie to me, all to save your worthless husband."

I backed away, and he seemed to follow, strides slow.

"I am telling the truth!"

"I'm _sure_ you are." He said, voice dripping with condescending sarcasm. "Yes, you are quite the woman. Strong, emotional, and yet weak, like a flower."

"Please, you must-"

"And beautiful too." He fixed me with a lascivious stare, and my skin crawled, drawing ever nearer with calculated steps. "Your husband doesn't deserve to have a body like yours in his bed."

Swallowing hard, my muscles forced themselves into a sickened shiver. He was but an inch from me, and my eyes caught with his freezing ones. I stood stock still, he, much taller than I, towered over me, pinning me back against the wall, between him and the bed.

And despite how afraid I was, I was angry too.

"I'm sure I could find some other, far more interesting uses for you than simply answering questions." A hand, tanned and oddly smooth ran lightly along my cheek, eyes the colour of pepper baring down onto mine.

Sickened, I slapped his hand away, and only realised what I had done, after I did it.

Obviously he wasn't one to take direct force lightly. It happened fast, and before I knew what he was doing, my back hit the wall, cracking hard against the marks left by the whip and I whimpered in agony. A rough hand tangled in my hair, forcing my head back to meet his gaze, his knee parted my legs, free hand flat against the wall beside my head.

There was no faint sneering smile now, it had been replaced with a dark look, lust filled, arrogant snarl. "I can do so much worse to you than Gareth _ever_ could." He hissed at me, and I whimpered as the grip on my hair became tighter. I pulled uselessly at his wrist. "You are a fool for resisting."

I could feel his breath, hot and humid against my face, he slid his free palm up my waist, thumb brushing across the swell of my breast and I whimpered again, his face so close to mine, eyelids lowered and dark, hateful.

"Let go of me!" I wailed.

Why was this happening? Did God have no mercy for me? Must everything that happens to me be against my will? I wish, for once, something would go as I hoped it would.

Pulling uselessly at his arm clutching my hair, I looked at him pleadingly, begging God for help. Tears poured their way down my face, I struggled, trying to twist my waist out from underneath the man, but his grip was too strong, and I was trapped.

Again. Curse me, for I am far too weak for this. At least if I go down, I will do it fighting. I can't give up, not this time.

"I'm going to enjoy this." He whispered, dark and heavy against my face.

I clenched my jaw, preparing for the worst, when a loud caw of a bird echoed through the window, startling me. He paid no attention to it.

It was then that a loud, urgent knock rattled on the door when his lips were but a hair's breadth from mine, and he frowned.

"Ignore it."

But it refused to be ignored, and the knocking continued until the door was swung open, and a very disorientated guard tumbled into the room.

"Ugh, what is it?" He spat, tearing his head from mine.

The guard bowed down low, his forehead touching the floor, muffling his hurried ramblings. "My apologies, Mu'ayyad sir, but there is situation urgently in need of your attention."

"Well, out with it!"

The guard flinched. "A m-man has infiltrated the castle, sir. He has already killed fourteen guards, but we can't locate him."

"And? Who is this man?"

"I don't know, sir. He resembles a monk, but how he managed to get inside is a mystery."

That, in it's own way, was my prayers being answered. I didn't need any more information, I _knew_ it was Altair.

The man gripping my hair made a noise of disgust and let go of me, striding quickly over to his desk and drawing out a sword from the left hand side.

His face was set in a deep snarl, eyebrows furrowed, teeth bared. "We will finish this later." He spat at me, then turned to his guard. "Get her back to the cell, and do it _quickly_. That assassin will rue the day he entered my castle!"

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**: (1) Sorry, couldn't help but blatantly plug Othello in there again.

Don't worry, things will start to get happier! Thanks for reading!


	9. Just Kill the Man

**Anthor's Notes**: Aplogies for the long wait, but it's been quite the hectic week. I won't bore you with the details, but thanks for reviews.

HOLY CRAP OVER 100 REVIEWS!!

And since it's Valentines Day, I've left a present for the last part of the chapter for everyone. Teehee I'm such a cow. LOL Enjoy!

**Warning**: Violence, and sexual implications.

**_Just Kill the Man_**

Unwillingly, I was dragged down through the castle by two armed guards. Dragging my weight, I struggled for all it was worth, determined to create as much noise, and waste as much valuable time as possible.

Blood was singing in my ears, urging the adrenaline through my nerves in effort to get away from the guards, but their cold, steel hands clamped my arms firmly in place, and the jab of a knife by my side managed to stop my pleading cries on several occasions, but not silence them completely.

There was no chance I was going to stay here, knowing the castle was thrown into disarray. Even if the "assassin" wasn't (by some feat of incredible coincidence) Altair, the least I could do is help the man if our paths should happen to cross. I kicked, I screamed, I bit down hard when a hand tried to cover my mouth, I cried out desperately for help. The guards were quickly loosing their patience, but I was far too riled and aggravated by the days events to care.

Jerking me down endless corridors and stairs, I hoped, prayed for any sort of disruption to stop the snarling guards, anything to keep me away from Mu'ayyad and his idle hands. I couldn't, I refused to allow that to happen again. Sickening, disgusting man, I thought venomously. How dare he touch me, or even think of such things. Why is it that men seem to _forget_ I am married?

My train of thought was swiftly interrupted when there was a _clunk_ and one of the guards stopped short with a grunt, and toppled over, a dagger protruding from the bridge of his nose, face set in a grimace of pained surprise. The other drew his sword, raising it defensively, and I darted to the side just as a white blur shot from the back, landed on the guard's flanks, and while he was going down a knife jerked into his neck before he could even protest.

Turning, the guard was placed quietly on the floor by armoured hands, and the man stood in robes of gleaming white splattered with red, a snarl etched into his features.

"Altair!" I threw my hands into the air, praising God, thanking him that something finally started to go my way. I could have kissed him I was so happy to see him alive and unharmed, but it was quickly halted when his forearm threw me into the adjacent wall, blocking a volley of arrows that darted past, one managed to rip a hole through his robe. He grunted in disgust, pressed me against the wall, warning me to stay put, and I did as he stepped out to meet the archer, sword bared, his hidden blade unsheathed and ready.

Knowing what was coming, I turned my head away just as there was a swish of white robes, gracefully as he turned, and I saw no more, I only heard the crunch of bone and messy spurts of blood, with choked cries echoing through the halls, the faint splatter as the thick liquid hit the stone when it escaped the fighting body. I cringed, hearing the mass fall to the ground.

He approached quickly, eyes black in shadow, brow completely hidden, but I could feel the intensity, the urgency. He motioned his head to me, and I ran with him, he caught my hand as I fell behind, and he kept going, fast and fluid, leading me down corridors, down and down along the terracotta stone, the red rug crinkling beneath my feet.

Stopping suddenly, he wrapped his arms around me and dragged me into a dark corner, pressing me tightly against his chest, free hand darting up to cover my mouth, and it was lucky he did. A faint gasp managed to worm it's way from my mouth as a group of shouting guards ran past to the opposite corridor, oblivious to us. They disappeared in a clamour of metal. I breathed a sigh.

"My apologies for the prompt intrusion." He whispered into my ear.

"Thank you, for finding me." I whimpered in reply, hugging him tightly.

Racing blood, tired legs and a weak and frail body only managed to carry me as far as what I presumed was the dining room. We had been running for what would be two hours now, occasionally stopping suddenly and hiding when a group of guards got suspicious and tried to hunt us down, or when one or two caught the sight of my red dress billowing behind me, my sandals clicking off the stone. Altair made quick, effortless work of them, and I made sure to look away and think of other things, like going back home and sleeping, or seeing Adham again.

But now I was pulled into a vacant room, small, closed, a pantry of some sort. My chest was heaving, short, raspy breaths coming from my mouth. The castle wasn't that big, it was just an effort to get away from the guards, and where exactly Altair was taking me, I didn't know. I presumed he knew himself.

As always, his breathing was low and controlled, normal compared to mine. I clung to the wall of the tiny room, the only light illuminating a small strip on Altair's face when he peered out from the door.

"Are you alright?" He asked quietly, passing me a wineskin bad with water, which I gulped down gratefully.

Soon, I caught my breath, and managed to mutter, "I'm fine."

I was shaking, partly from exerting myself, and mostly from utter fear. Handing the bag back to him, my back was stiff, sore, and I groaned softly when I tried to stretch but quickly stopped, feeling the wounds crack. And being the critical man he is, instantly noticed. I wouldn't have been surprised if he _heard_ the scabs tighten.

He opened his mouth, as though to ask, but quickly cut himself off and glanced back out the slit of the door, then turned to me and took my hand, putting a finger to his lips. I nodded, stopping him before he opened the door and reached down, to take off the strappy gold sandals around my feet, placing them as quietly on the floor as possible before we slipped back outside.

Against the wall, he guided me as we edged around it, padding feet against the rug and stone, my heart pounded fiercely against my ribs at every, albeit gentle, rustle of metal from afar, but nothing strayed our path. He lead me downwards to a stairs, and I followed obediently.

Motioning for me to stay, I stilled near the banister and he silently crept down the stairs, hand on the hilt of his sword, craning his head to peer around the corner. Nothing, and he beckoned me forward, guiding me down the spiralling stairs of what I presumed was one of the towers. At every break to a new floor, he paused to look for signs of life, but still nothing. Personally, I found that odd, and judging by his cautious movements he too was paranoid of a sudden attack.

Silence. And it was pressing. It was far, far too quiet, and surely Altair felt the same way. Or perhaps I was just being too suspicious. Would it not be a good thing, that no one was near? Even my gulp sounded loud as it echoed down the stairs against the matte stone, and I shivered, in spite of myself.

We stepped out on the last floor, his leather boots oddly silent against the floor and he unsheathed his hidden blade, bracing himself for attack. We treaded softly, and I caught the very faint murmur of voices up ahead. He looked back, reassuringly nodding to me and inclining his head forwards. I followed. One of the doors was ajar in front, and the mumble of speaking me travelled outside.

It was either turn back, which wasn't much of an option considering we just walked the whole way down, or edge around. He chose the latter, stopping short of the door behind it, his eyes looking to the far corner of the room inside.

The room however, was but a small pathway of a balcony to the room below, as I discovered when he pulled me down to a crouch with a hand on the back of my neck, and watched, listened rather. I rubbed my neck. That hurt, considering the pain I've been in for… however long I have been here.

"… And I have told you already, there is _no_ sign of them!" One guard thumped his fist off the wooden table in the centre of the room, devoid of windows with only few crackling candelabras with torches.

I twitched, catching sight of Mu'ayyad on the opposite side who was snarling in disgust and spitting at the guards. "Assassins do not just disappear!" He looked down his nose at them, hands balled into fists, his rings catching the flickering lights. "If I have to tell you to search this dammed castle a hundred times over again, I will! I want no excuses next time, you will find that woman and bring her back to me, unharmed, do I make myself quite _clear_?"

Though the man was decidedly quiet with me, regardless of the situation he had me in, he could produce a fearsome snarl when he wanted to. Then again, while in his room I realised how quickly he could change, and how he could put on a gentle façade simply to fool me, hiding the monster underneath.

"Do you know that man?" Altair whispered to me, catching me out of my daze.

"Mu'ayyad." I answered quietly, gesturing to the man now pacing angrily below, and added bitterly, "The man who started this whole mess."

A nod, and he turned back to listen.

The guards stomped off, allowing another man flanked with two guards through. And as I watched him, my back twitched painfully in memory, I curled my hands against the floor into fists and huffed, turning away for a second. The crack of the cane and whip drummed around in my head, along with his relentless questions, ones to which he barely even waited for an answer before he once again struck me with either stiff wood or hardened leather.

What… what a hateful, ugly man. Pasty skinned and old, almost unnatural, an inbred swine with no heart and far too much evil in him to be considered human, as far as I was concerned.

"You called for me, Mu'ayyad?" He said, in that same accent that was so difficult to place.

"Yes," drawled the younger man, "it seems there is a rat in the castle. A rat with weapons, no voice and scurries off like the pest he is with _my_ bait."

"Well, I know how you feel about rats, sir…"

"Find him." Mu'ayyad spat venomously. "Find him, and when you do, kill him slowly, and I mean agonisingly slow." (and with that, I heard Altair shift beside me, a frown etched across his face.)

"And… the woman…?"

A sickening, salacious smirk formed at the corner of Mu'ayyad's lips, and he looked dreamily to the ceiling, his fingers together in a mock prayer, touching them to the end of his nose. He reached down, taking a gold coin from his pocket and absentmindedly twirled the metal between his fingers. "Have her tied up and brought to my quarters. I do not tolerate disobedience on such a level. She must be… ah, _punished_."

"As you wish, sir." The man bowed, his fair hair oddly motionless.

"Do not fail me, Gareth. Or I swear I will have you hung from the gallows!"

Gareth bowed, nonplussed by the threat and turned to his guards. "Suivez mon avance. Il semble que nous chassons pour le tueur silencieux, hommes." (1)

My stomach twisted and shiver crawled up my spine. Altair's hand quickly grasped my forearm, squeezing it for a second before urging me upwards. The brief contact clamed me slightly, and we left the view of the balcony, continuing down the long curved corridor of stone and rugs, vases and calm, yet rich paintings and tapestries.

We turned to the right, still silent as the grave, and I had to will my chest down to stop my heaving breaths. Still, I had no idea as to where we were, and this castle was seemingly endless with it's winding corridors. I glanced out a window ahead, and judging by the light it seemed to be early evening, we were hiding and running and walking for hours. My feet felt heavy, my back ached, my palms sweated but I willed myself to keep going. I couldn't stay here, not here of all places with that… _man_. I would rather die than have his vile touch upon me, punishment indeed!

Our slide against the wall however, was cut short, when the metallic crunch of armour rounded the corner up ahead, and a fierce shout of " Vous là! Arrêtez-vous immédiatement!" (2), which was sure to summon more of them. What he said, I had no idea, but I understood Altair's vicious swear beside me as he unsheathed his sword, and pushed me back against the wall.

Almost childishly, I covered my eyes just as he lunged forwards and there was an ear-splitting bang of metal. It continued, the shuffling of feet and occasional scrape of swords, quickly followed rustling cloth and chain mail. I cringed, a grunt along with a faltering step and slice of a sword, through robes and bone, then a crack and second slice, blood spurts and a strangled scream. A slump, the unlucky fool was dead.

Peering through my fingers, I looked to the floor, just to confirm to fears, and it was true, the guard had fallen, and by his twitching fingers and rolling eyes, he was still alive. My already weak stomach churned, and I bent nearly double, hiding my face from the sight. How could he still live, after that? How was that merciful?

The men ignored me, shouting things in a language I didn't understand, but their cries soon died as Altair picked them out one by one. Blood splattering, grunts of pain and screams, God I don't think I could ever forget that noise, the one of fluid gargling in the man's lungs as he tried desperately to draw his last breath, and all in vain.

Could these men really want to protect Mu'ayyad that bad, so much they would suffer the pains of this assassin? They would die in the hope Mu'ayyad would live? Surely, there is more to it than that. Is life to be thrown away so effortlessly?

"N-non, s'il vous… p-plaît être ch-charitable! J'ai… d-des enfan-!" (3) I dared to look up, one of the guards was on his knees, sword raised but neither in defence or offence. His stuttering, heaving ramblings were cut short when Altair's sword hacked away at his collar, then was wrenched free, dragging a seam of blood and the lifeless body with it.

How… how horrible… he was surrendering…-

I jumped badly when a pair of hands grabbed me from behind without a word of warning, one surprisingly smooth coving my mouth, cold gold rings against my face, the other across my shoulders, a dagger pressed against my throat.

Struggling, I whimpered against the hand, pushed back with my hips and shoulders, plucked uselessly at the forearm around me, but the grip was too strong, and I was doing nothing to stop it. My mouth couldn't even move enough for me to bite him, and he bent my head back, a mouth beside my ear, "Don't you _dare_ try to get away, woman."

I swore violently in my mind, cursing Mu'ayyad to the deepest pits of hell for this, and I could only hope Altair…

Sure enough, the assassin managed to finish off the last of the guards before whipping around to face us, and then stood stock still, either in pure shock, or in cautiousness.

Mu'ayyad however, simply laughed.

"What will you do now, assassin?" He hissed, pressing the steel further against me as I continued to struggle. "So sure you could just sneak into _my_ castle and steal away the bait? I had to lie to her, you know. Tell her we locked you up, so we could use you against her. But you have just made this _so_ hard for me. That means you have to die!"

The man was utterly, undeniably insane. Faced against a predator like the assassin, how could he possibly have any chance of winning with just a dagger, and me as a method of weaponry.

Altair pressed forward, but stopped when he pulled my head back again, sliding the knife along my skin, but not with enough force to cut it. "Ah ah ah, not so fast. Don't want to loose what you have been so desperately trying to save, now would you?"

A snarl passed over his lips then, eyes hidden but the intensity rolling from them could have burned a hole in the wall. He was livid, and that was dangerous. It almost reminded me of Adham, teeth bared, shoulders up and forward, staring up at the target rather than down.

"She spoke of you, you know." He continued, walking backwards, and dragging me, still struggling with him, Altair following with calculated steps. "So _worried_ for your safety, despite what she had put up-"

"You talk far too much." Altair spat, adjusting his sword arm, and cracked his neck.

"Come now, you won't be fighting me, not when I have much more skilled warriors at my disposal."

As if on cue, Gareth stepped from the adjacent corridor, smirk plastered across his face, as though anticipating the thought of killing. I lurched, but was held fast, Altair not even bothering to turn his head to face him, still glaring at Mu'ayyad. It was difficult to breathe, even more so when my terrified eyes caught sight of the huge mace Gareth was sporting, his armour tough, his hands steady on the heavy weapon.

"Remember, Gareth." Mu'ayyad acknowledged the older man. "_Slowly_."

A smirk quickly morphed into wide grin before the man attacked, swinging his mace above his head and bringing it down with a crash, where Altair was but moments before. Whimpering, I clamped my eyes shut and tried to turn my head away, but the grip on my shoulders tightened, the knife digging into me.

"Eyes open." He demanded, and I reluctantly followed.

And so they fought, though the mace was slow and rarely hit, it managed to graze the assassin's leg as he sidestepped out of its way, making him stumble, loose his balance, but he used the momentum to guard as another swing came down, and his knees buckled with the sheer force, the weight of the weapon. He grunted, and Gareth sneered as he drew the weapon back, ready to attack again, but was caught off guard when a thin sword, much smaller in comparison, cut his thigh through an opening in the armour, and he recoiled, hissing.

That was good, I thought. Though Gareth may have a mace, Altair has the advantage of sheer speed and accuracy.

It continued, Altair trying to avoid the mace while countering at the inertia before each swing, almost dance like in his movements, calculated. Gareth was loosing stamina, he heaved, his brow was covered in a sheen of sweat, and I silently prayed to God for an opening that would just finish him off completely. I still struggled hard, but it was useless.

A block from the man, and using the pause Altair surged forwards, blade ready. I gasped and whimpered through the hand when he was caught off guard by a quick swing and the mace crushed against his stomach. The armour bonded with leather cracked and buckled under the weight and he was flung backwards, onto his back, winded.

No, no that couldn't have happened. Mu'ayyad chuckled behind me, a dark, evil sound and I struggled harder, all fear of the knife against my throat utterly forgotten. I pulled at his forearm, trying to jerk it free, anything, I had to do something.

Altair shakily got to his feet, bemused, heaving, his broken armour looked battered against his stomach. Fighting to catch his breath, he stood poised for another onslaught as Gareth slowly made his way towards him, less breathless, more sure of himself now.

He can't die, not now, not when he has tried so hard to protect me. This place… I would rather go with having my throat slit open than watch Altair die and be expected to stay _here_, with these _people_. I was sick of being the simpering, foolish woman who got herself into trouble. None of this was my fault, and I shouldn't have to pay, or let others pay for mistakes set into motion long before I knew about it. It was time to start taking control, analyze the situation, anything to help rid this madness.

If I didn't, Altair might die. I couldn't let that happen.

I was still held fast, but I gritted my teeth and stomped down hard on the sandaled food beside mine, hurting my bare heel, and I could have sworn I heard something _crack_. A sharp inhale near my ear, then a high pitched groan of pain as he jerked his foot up, his arm loosening around my shoulders. I faltered as he stumbled for a second, but I swung my arm as fast and as high as I could reach it. My aim was true, and I caught the man sharply with my elbow straight in the nose. He recoiled, and my free hand closed around the dagger previously at my throat.

I prayed then, as I wrenched it from his grip, clamping my eyes shut and turning, cutting… well, I didn't really know where I cut him, but I felt the knife tearing through flesh and he tried to push himself backwards, away from me.

"Stop, damn you, stop!" He shrieked, and I opened my eyes just before he made his way towards me again, pointing the dagger at his neck.

Vaguely, behind me someone shouted something in a foreign language and there was a crack and a swish of a sword. But I ignored it. I couldn't turn, couldn't falter now.

Mu'ayyad had a most unattractive nosebleed and the knife caught him across his left cheek and down his chin. The wound was puckered, flowing freely with red down his tan skin and onto his white robes. He held his hands up defensively, but glared at me for all he was worth. I was breathing hard, partly for the rush, partly for fear and the realisation that I actually managed to do _that_ to a man. And I was angry, with everything.

Behind me, there was a loud bang and _shink_ of a blade, accompanied by a pained gasp, then a slump. Then silence.

Altair won. I wasn't a fool. I knew he did it.

The man's eyes darted to me, then past me as quiet footsteps cautiously walked forward. His face darkened, a snarl crawled over his bloodied lips. "Come on then," he spat, "kill me!"

I would have, but far too many lives have been thrown away today. I didn't think I was quite ready to kill someone, so I slowly backed away, brandishing the knife when he dared to follow and stopping him short in his tracks, his snarl cut deeper. He swore, hissing and spitting vicious words at us as we walked back. I stumbled over Gareth's lifeless body, but a hand caught me and steadied me. Altair beside me, raised his sword to the man, but folowed.

I threw the knife down at Mu'ayyad's heels, and took off with Altair, leaving the hateful man behind us, still glaring at our backs, nonplussed by his own blood drenching his clothes.

* * *

Damascus was vast, and it was nearing nighttime by the time we reached the docks. Confused, Altair pulled me onto a small fishing boat, hurriedly looking around before walking around the opposite side, his boots thumping off the wood. The boat rocked slightly beneath my feet, I grabbed a plank near me, to steady myself.

"Everything ready?" A thick Arabian accent echoed from around the side of the ship, not Altair's.

"Yes. Make to leave." Came the answer, and I was sure it was Altair by the quiet rumble. I walked forwards as three came out, Altair walked down onto the lower deck, followed by a man in similar robes, white with a red sash, but a blue overcoat slung across his shoulders. He was broader, his hair was short, his hood down and his skin was darker, but not by much. He inclined his head at me, his dark eyes scanning me for a second, before climbling down after Altair, gesturing for me to follow. The other man, possibly the ships's captain, an old and grizzly man walked onto the upper deck, ignoring me completely.

Following shakily, I climbed down the small hatch after them, a lantern swaying slightly from the ceiling in a room that smelled distinctly of old wood and sea water. The two sat on canvas sacks, and I, spotting a particularly comfortable looking pile of half empty sacks and material, automatically made my way towards it, and sat down with a sigh.

The ship jerked forwards as it took off and I had to steady myself along the pile of material, but quickly relaxed, and ran my hands along my face.

"Here, take this." The man with the thick accent said, offering me a bag with water. I took it gratefully, gulping it down despite the slightly bitter taste and handed it back.

"And you are?"

"Malik." He answered simply. "I prayed you would return safe."

"Don't I always?" Altair said with a huff and reclined back, picking at his broken armour.

"I wasn't talking to you." He snapped, and the two glared at each other, then looked away.

There was a rivalry there, I was sure of it.

"So," Malik said, taking some of the water himself, "I trust no major damage was done? Considering your stomach plate, I should pray for the best."

"It was a mace, Malik."

"Lucky for you then, that you actualy had the armour this time."

That was true, if Altair didn't have didn't have those plates of steel, he would have been a dead man. I cringed at the thought. No doubt it would leave a nasty bruise.

There was a pause, before Altair spoke again. "… Thank you, for the ship Malik."

Malik sighed and straightned, streaching his stiff shoulders. He walked over, putting a hand to Altair's shoulder. "Not a problem, brother. I need to look after Al Mualim's best pupil, after all."

Altair rolled his eyes as Malik climbed up through the hatch, but he was smiling, I could see it.

It was difficult to think that he could be close to anyone, really. Perhaps that was cruel of me, but the two seemed to get on, on a friendly level. Even rivals have thir share of friendship.

We sat there for minutes before Altair got up and walked towards me, sitting heavily beside me, weary.

"I need you to tell me." He said, quiet and curt. "What did they do to you?"

My eyes widened and I looked at the floor. "Nothing… nothing like _that_."

Should I tell him? What did it matter? We were safe now, away from harm, for the time being.

That wasn't needed.

"Please," he said, "I need to know why you didn't let me kill that man."

In fairness, I didn't kill him because I simply couldn't. Killing… it… it wasn't in me. I was no battle hardened warrior, or stealthy assassin. I was just a woman, at the end of the day. A God-fearing woman, who would never dream of killing someone, regardless. I didn't have pity for Mu'ayyad, I just… I couldn't.

Why I didn't want him to die, because… well… enough people have died this day. I couldn't stand anymore. It wasn't worth it. I didn't really know, when I thought about it.

He gently lay a hand to my back, and I flinched.

Altair, of course, noticed.

My heart was thumping when he rolled down the top of my dress at the back, revealing the barely healed marks left by the cane, the whip. He looked at them for some time, fingers like a ghostly touch over the scabs and welts.

Finally, he let go, and turned me to face him.

He was angry, that much I could tell, but it wasn't directed towards me. I still shivered all the same. "This dress," he hissed, his fingers digging into my shoulders, "where did you get it?"

Cotton filled my mouth, gagging me, and I fought to speak. "I-I don't… I don't know. I woke up and-"

He stood up and swore, kicking one of the sacks out of the way. Pacing for some time, he rubbed the bridge of his nose before calming himself down, and sat back down beside me.

"I suggest you get some sleep," he sighed, hands removing the broken armoured belt, "I'm sure you're tired."

Obediently, I swung my legs across the sacks, turning on my side so as not to hurt the tender skin, and curled up, cold, some warmth radiating from the man examining his belt beside me, but not enough.

God, I was so tired, but atleast I was safe. And I only had him to thank, really. And Malik, for the ship.

* * *

I awoke a few hours later, to a very odd sound. At first, I thought it was coming from me, my own heartbeat, but…

It was steady, rhythmic… My eyes still closed, I groaned softly, my arm around… something.

God, where was I?

Then I remembered. Malik, the ship. I was in the lower deck on a pile of sacks and material, a weird makeshirt bed, and yet it was oddly comfortable. And warm, why was it so warm? Did I have a fever? I prayed not. What a waste, if I were to die of illness.

I nuzzled into a steady, breathing chest and my eyes blearily opened, catching sight of serene white robes, with the occasional slaptter of blood. I groaned again. It was far too comfy to even think about the inappropriateness of the situaton. But I was awake now, and I looked up, catching sight of the man currenly acting as my pillow.

He was leaning against a pile of sacks, breathing low and steady, his hood had fallen down sometime during the night. His hair was tousled, messy.

Altair always manged to look so peaceful while he slept. How, I wasn't too sure. Perhaps it was because his eyes were closed, they lost their intensity.

The fates were cruel for this. How teasing, to leave this man beside me, his arm slung around my waist, protecting in an obscene embrace. But _ah_… when would it be like this again? This moment was mine, and I was calm, for too content to worry about much else.

So… so handsome. So perfect.

Sure, every human has their flaws, and he is no exception. But the outer beauty truly is something to behold. He was… he was perfect.

To me, at least.

I leaned up, even the smell of him was intoxicating, like an aphrodisiac, blood and human skin and earth. I refrained from touching the almost impossibly smooth skin, so… so…

What was I doing? I was leaning over him, so close, so _blessedly_ close, and I was struck with an urge almost impossible to deny.

I wanted him.

I guess, I could admit it now. And it was hard not to, for all his beauty it is a wonder women around him didn't drop to their knees and beg…

Perhaps I was loosing my mind, but I think, after all I have been through, I deserved this moment. Just for me, right?

He stirred, and I paused, my hands inches from his face, heart thumping wildly, but he didn't wake. I dared to lean further, anything, the heat was so welcoming, so wonderful in this cold, damp space.

The water swayed below, and I could feel the ship moving along with the tide along the river. It almost told me to move closer, anything.

Perhaps… perhaps I really was loosing my mind…

His face was to the side, and it was perfectly harmless just to kiss his cheek, right?

That was cut short however, when I leaned closer, barely an inch away and his eyes fluttered open, snapping to me, blank.

I think I tried to swallow, but my mouth could only open, surprised. Such intense eyes…

"What are you doing…?" He whispered, his breath tickling my face, the grip along my waist tightening, pulling me towards him.

In my shock, I could only stay still. My heart seemed to have halted completely. There was only the sway of the ship, and his ever tightening arm around me, pulling me closer to him.

His eyes scanned me, pools of dripping honey, even in this light. Sinful, sweet… Oh God, what have I gotten myself into.

Those eyes… they scanned my face, then slid down to my mouth, and I could only stare. Staring, as he pulled me onto his lap in a single, fluid motion. My legs went either side of his, almost like they were made to do so.

The gauntlets were gone, and his left hand cupped my face, the heat… the beautiful heat made my cheeks flush. I could feel the absence of his ring finger, and I turned my head, almost to look, anything to avoid that gaze that made my skin dissolve. His thumb brushed my lower lip, his hand gently brought me back to face him, and I did, after only a moments hesitancy.

Aloof, easy, calm. He looked… I didn't quite know. It was intense, whatever it was, and we were so close…

_So blessedly close_…

Our noses brushed, his brow against mine, and out of pure instinct I tried to pull away. But he followed. Anything for that simple contact. His hand on my face was shaking slightly.

This… I couldn't let this happen. What started off so innocent, now it was… God I didn't even know.

Eyes, honey eyes, gold and brown, so beautiful, so full of want…

And that slow slide to my lips should have been a sin, but his mouth followed his eyes, and he pressed a kiss to my lips, so gentle, questioning.

Lips brushing with every quaking breath, my heart seemed to fall from my chest and melt into a warm pool in my stomach. He pressed further, like that time I was lying down, but now was different, it was almost too warm here, ontop of him.

It _burned_…

He inhaled sharply through his nose, pressing further, harder, and what could I do but curl my hands upwards and clutch him as both his hands trapped my waist, fingers against the soft linnen.

It started soft, wanton. Now it was dark, and growing in speed. I couldn't resist as a tongue _begged_ it's way past my lips and teeth and _slid _gracefully into my mouth, my blood racing heavily when the softest of longing noises rumbled in his throat.

Oh _yes_… I remember this. Though this was much more shameful, as now there were two involved, and not just one.

I moved up, pushing myself against him, my legs tightening around his, my hands running through his hair, and God it didn't matter where we were and who was near, I needed this. He needed this.

It was hard, and became faster with every languid stroke of his tongue against mine. He was breathing in harsh drags through his nose, his hands around my waist massaged the skin before pulling my hips into meet his, and we both gasped and pulled away.

His lips found my neck, and I rolled my head back, my eyes fluttering shut as the heat grew to such a burning temperature, his hands gently pushing my hips down to his, in slight rotations. I gasped again, when his teeth nipped at the convulsing muscles as my throat worked to strangle back the noise.

He groaned again, and it bacme faster, his mouth kissed harder, his hands pushing my hips down onto his grew in tempo. One travelled down, hitching up the end of my dress, his calloused palms against the bottom of my thigh. I groaned then too, in spite of myself. He pulled my waist tighter, urgent, rhythmic, anything to relive the building, crushing tension…

"Altair!" A muffle, from the above deck. It was Malik, and I could hear his pacing footsteps.

At first Altair ignored it, content to keep going, lips still against my neck, but he was called again.

I ran my hands along his scalp, breathing heavy, and touched my lips to his forehead. "Go." I said, even though every part of me was screaming for him to stay. "Please, he will find us if you don't."

He tried his hardest to slow his movements, making a huge effort, his own breath ragged and coarse.

He spun, turning me over onto my back, and I nearly yelped in surprise before he pressed a hard kiss to my lips, and I immediately bucked at the sensation. He bucked back, almost vainly.

Parting from me, leaving me to the warmed material, he ran a hand through my dark waves of hair, his forehead against mine. His eyes, dazed, but still wanton, tore from mine as he got up, and climbed up on the top deck just as another disgruntled call from Malik echoed from above.

I was still breathing heavy, my heart racing, sweating, and now feeling thoroughly abandoned and frustrated and ashamed, but it was worth it…

That one moment was worth the trouble.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** (1) Follow my lead. We shall find the silent killer, men.

(2) You there! Stop immediatly!

(3) N-no, please have mercy! I have childre-!

Thanks very much for reading, awh, I love you guys!!!


	10. Words Best Left Unsaid

**_Author's Notes:_** Mother of GOD it has been a hectic few weeks. I am so very, eternally, from the pit of my stomach sorry for the delay. I had my Mock examinations for my Leaving Cert and by God they took forever. Anywho, YES I am continuing and NO I don't plan to stop it.

Evee.Lynn. Trust me, it's going to be a while before THAT happens, and when it does... YUSSS!!!

Thanks to EVERYONE who has been reading (sniff) you guys really are so sweet when it comes to this writing stuff!

This chapter is rather... meh compared to the others, it's really just going over thought process and so on, because it is like crack to me, people and their dammed emotions!

**_Words Best Left Unsaid_**

Sometimes, I simply don't know where I stand with Altair. It was rather difficult to comprehend what it was exactly he thought of me. Was I… a source of affection, comfort, or simply a chaste whore whom he could easily take advantage of whenever he felt like it? Was I akin to something precious to him, something he sought to protect at the cost of his own life, or merely another mission for him and his duty to the Creed? Why was it so complicated?

Malik shook me awake sometime in early morning. I grumbled, rolling off the scratchy sacks and assorted canvas to my feet, rubbing my eyes, wincing when my back throbbed painfully.

After divesting my "new" sandals in the castle, my feet were sore and scratched from fleeing Damascus, my left heel sharply flaring up in pain after I stomped on Mu'ayyad's foot. It seems every deed comes with a price. Still worn out, I climbed the stairs after a tired looking Malik, greeted by a dawn sun and twittering birds.

"We make to Mundhir's home, and from there plan to Masyaf." Altair said, without looking back at us.

Malik nodded. "Would it not help to go to the bureau first?"

Altair made a face and crossed his arms. "I'm not particularly… _fond_, of the bureau leader posted there."

The other man simply laughed, but agreed with a hand gesture to venture on.

The air was cool, crisp as I walked off the deck, and we were back in Jerusalem. I breathed a sigh of relief, edging off the rocky boat to the pier, looking across the vast river and it's glistening water. Finally…

Calmer, I followed their quick strides on sore feet, wincing and stifling pained cries when I stood on protruding stones, passing the early traders with a bowed head, as if to hide. The dress, still worn and slightly bloodstained from the incidents in the castle, it clung to my aching back like a second skin, and I tried my best to ignore it, still following, silent.

We reached my house, and they parted to allow me to open the door, Altair leaning in to mutter something in Malik's ear.

My lungs filled with the scent of my house as I walked inside, relief washing over me like cool water, but unfortunately no booming bark of Adham's usual greetings. _Where was he…_? The two took their time, and I eased myself down onto the cushions in the lounge, so familiar, and sighed contentedly. Clunks followed, and then my door shutting before they both entered the room, and me, positively beaming when I found neither of them wore their shoes. They do learn fast.

Malik shook his head at me, a disbelieving smile spread across his lips, and edged to the side while Altair addressed us.

"We must inform the Grand Master of these recent events." He turned to me. "We will need you to relay everything that happened personally with him. No doubt he can gather something useful from it. Malik," the other man stood straighter when addressed, and Altair continued, "stay here while I get the old man. If anything should happen, get her to the bureau as fast as you can. I do not trust this place anymore."

Malik nodded, and bowed. "Safety and peace, brother."

Altair followed suit, but I stood up. "What old man?"

"Al Din." He replied smoothly, already turning his back to me.

If he was venturing into town, he could bring back my dog. He was the first thing I missed while stepping into my house, and though I did have a certain level of trust in Fadil, I was still worried for my ebony canine.

A hand on his robe, I tugged him back impatiently. "Please, if you can, return Adham to me from Fadil, the butcher."

He sighed, his eyes on the floor, refusing to meet my eyes. "This is no time for your-"

"Altair, please!" I begged. "That dog is all I have left. I only ask this much of you."

After searching for his eyes, finally they met mine, but… it was as though he wasn't looking at me at all. There was that wall again, and it scared me to see it. He was guarding himself, and against _me_, of all people. It was cold and edgy, my expression instantly dropped under that glare, a brick wall of steel, indifference, impatience and anger, directed towards _me_.

Crossing his arms, he walked outside. "That dog." He grumbled, gesturing with a hand as if to wave me off. "I will bring him back."

… Ouch… that _really_ hurt.

The door shut quietly, and I just stood there, pondering what to do next, jumping when Malik (was he there this whole time?) made a soft noise as he sat down.

"You needn't worry." He said. "Altair is always like that."

_Not with me_, I thought idly as I went to sit down myself, _never with me_. My skin, beaten and worn begged me to rest, and I sat down heavily on the cushions beside the remaining assassin, feet burning and throbbing, but I felt restless. It wasn't long before I stood up again, and paced into my kitchen, the fruit on the table was too ripe. I threw them out the back, wondering vaguely how long I have been away. The basin in the back yard was still full of water, ripping brightly in the morning sun.

Malik followed me outside as I leaned over the stone recess, robes of beautiful white, but he pulled down his hood and ran his fingers through his short hair with a wan sigh.

He really was rather handsome. Darker than Altair, but his face was much easier, rounder, his nose was crooked, possibly broken once, stubble lined his jaw. A thin mouth broke into a little smile for me, dark black eyes crinkling.

Slightly taller than Altair, he towered over me, blocking the early sun from my eyes.

"You are troubled, no?" He paused, then chuckled to himself and leaned down on the edge of the basin next to me. "What am I saying? Of course you are."

My reflection was ghostly. My hair whipped about with the gentle breeze, eyes bloodshot and tired, skin seemed stretched over my cheeks. As if only realising at that moment, my stomach rumbled painfully and I clasped a hand over it, blush flushing my face as I smiled, Malik grinning beside me.

"Would you… like to eat something, assassin?" I asked, making my way back inside.

"Sounds wonderful." He answered.

Barely half an hour later, and after rummaging through the wooden closet hanging the meat, I finally made something acceptable for myself and the famished assassin, and sat at the small table with him on the hard stool.

Malik seemed to be much more relaxed and easy-going than Altair. His gait was smaller, more swaggering in comparison to Altair's proud posture, and his more heart shaped face seemed easier to talk to, more open, friendly. Finished, he patted his flat stomach and sighed.

"Thank you for that. I haven't eaten since yesterday."

Waving off the comment, I simply watched as Malik raised a hand to his eyes, missing a ring finger, and pinched the bridge of his nose. It seems the assassins get little sleep through their missions, something in that was unfair considering the amount of work they do, and I doubted the rewards were much other than praise.

"You look tired." I said.

"As do you," he answered, "but neither of us will feel a bed's embrace for a few days, I fear."

"Would you not rest now?"

"I do not think my brother-in-arms would be too pleased with the fact I am sleeping on a mission." He smiled knowingly, it was rather infectious. "But a blink and you may be killed, or snatched away again."

I rose from my seat, taking the bowls from the table and putting them on the stone counter beside a small bucket of water. "I doubt such a thing would happen now. The guards tend to be noisier than that after all. You over exaggerate."

A chuckle, then, "From what I heard, attempts such as that seem to happen frequently around you." He leaned back on his chair against the wall, his long arms supporting his head. "At first I thought Altair was the one to exaggerate when he first bade me for help with your… _ah_, rescue. But it would seem that trouble follows you."

Cleaning off the pottery, I set them down, drying them with a rag on the far side of the counter.

He continued. "You certainly gave him a fright, you know. It is very rare to see a master assassin like Altair loose his cool."

I put down the towel with a sigh. "…This is such a mess."

"It is only natural." He said from behind me. "The associations of the men after your husband are too well connected in Jerusalem and Damascus. The Grand Master, I understand, was right to post a master assassin with you. I just pray we can…-"

But he trailed off, and I heard him slowly get up off his stool and approach me. Turning, I faced him, his black eyes shining as he looked down on me, his gait guarded.

"What happened to your _back_?" He asked, two large hands on my shoulders, turning me to examine the back of my dress. He clicked his tongue, and I hissed as he pulled lightly on the dress I still wore from the castle, but it refused to move from my skin.

"… I was whipped." I replied quietly, pulling away from his hands as they attempted to pull the dress from the wounds.

His eyes widened to a considerable width, and a snarl played over his thin lips. A violent swear passed his mouth. "Why… those, _those bast-_"

A familiar bark cut him off and a scraping noise beating quickly against my front door. Creaky hinges followed, before Adham bounded inside, his paws hard against the stone tiles, and ran to me, his tail thrashing wildly. Malik quickly got out of the large dog's way and I bent down, his claws digging into my knees and I avoided the open jaws by tucking my head into his neck and hugging him tightly.

"Adham, I missed you so much!" I cried, and the dog whimpered encouragingly in reply, all movement and warm fur, he smelled of Fadil's shop which instantly made me recoil.

"You _stink_!" I muttered, a hand over my nose and mouth. Adham sat obediently by my heels, tailing wagging furiously. Malik chuckled, but edged away, cautiously eyeing the hound.

"It seems Fadil took good care of him then." A familiar voice came from the hall, and Diya Al Din entered the kitchen, his old grey eyes held a smile for me as I ruffled Adham's furry head. "It is good to see you again, pet."

"And you."

Altair followed, Malik pulling him aside by the arm and bending his head, to mutter something into the other's ear. His expression furrowed as he gestured to me, Al Din approached, his long fingers brushing Adham's ears, to the dog's thorough enjoyment. His head snapped to mine, gazes met, Malik took two phials from his belt and passed them to the remaining assassin.

"Heat up some water." He ordered me, and I rose a brow before following the command. Grabbing a bucket full of water from the basin out back, I returned to the kitchen, Malik was talking with Al Din in the lounge, Adham followed me as I heated the water over the recess in the kitchen.

My dog, so protective, barred Altair's path as he made his way towards me, who simply folded his arms in impatience as Adham made a low rumble in his chest. I nudged the dog out of the way, rubbing his collar, urging him to leave the assassin be. He reluctantly followed my command, still cautious. He must have followed Al Din here, considering how fearful he was of Altair.

The water simmered, and he reached over, taking the bucket from the hearth, passing me some rags he took from the table and inclined his head to follow him. I did without question, knowing full well of his intentions as he took me upstairs, Adham at my heels.

Laying the bucket beside the bed, he took the rags from me, avoiding my gaze, wordlessly putting them on the bed and walking behind me, fingers softly examining my dress.

"Do you mind if I rip this?"

Of course I didn't care. This dress came from hateful hands. Hands that wandered all too freely over me, that pulled my head back, covered my mouth to restrain me, that held me in place when lips were but millimetres away. The material was rich and beautiful, snug and fitted appropriately to my frame, but it could have been made of pure gold and I will still hate it just as much.

"Tare it to shreds and _burn_ it for all I care." I said lowly, but he said nothing.

Adham barked loudly as the assassin took a blade from the holster around his shoulders, but I urged him to be quiet, pulling rhythmically at the fur lining his neck. He calmed to whimper, and watched.

A small dagger slit down the back, hand firmly on my hip to keep me from moving away as the sharp tip grazed my spine, making me jerk forward instinctually. He attempted to peel the material away, but it caught and _pulled_ on my skin and I hissed, breaking free of his grasp and give a low moan.

A sigh, and he soaked a rag in the steaming water, wringing it out and patting it over the areas stuck to my back. I hissed in protest, but he ignored me. Soon the dress was soaked from the back, and he guided me over to my bed, sitting down, pulling me down with him until my hips were nestled in between his knees.

My dog sat protectively by my side, back against my legs, glaring up at Altair, who ignored the canine.

Trying desperately to will the flush in my cheeks back down, I bit my lip hard when he slowly tugged the material down, pulling scabs with it sharply when they stuck. Twitching, I jerked at every pull, until his hand brushed the dress about my waist and shoulders.

He gave a low oath. "I had no idea it was _this _bad."

"How is it?" I uttered meekly.

"The wounds are beginning to seep." He said, bending down to soak the rag again, hips moving forward into mine, fingers clenching the water free. "You will be left scarred, I'm afraid."

Nodding, I bit harder along my mouth. Now I would forever have a personal, physical reminder of everything that has happened. Pensive as the hot water rolled down my back, I thought of what Mundhir would say if he saw these scars. Would they be like Altair's when he saw them, pink and angry, or white and faded? How would he react? After all, he is the main reason I will have scars in the first place…

It continued, the ache under my skin lessened to a dull throb, my feet still scratched and scabbed, but I stayed silent.

This scene was familiar, only now the tables have turned it seems. At first, I was the one to heal the hurt, but now he is taking care of my wounds as I did to his. How… how funny.

I groaned, the water soothing my aching back as he washed away the dried blood, and then laughed. "And to think, barely a while ago I was doing this for you… How quickly things change."

He remained silent, hands still working against my back. At least I tried to keep it light-hearted, but perhaps that was bad form on my part, joking about my torture after all he has done to rescue me. I winced inwardly as the silence stretched.

Did I… did I say something wrong? Perhaps he was worried, or angry with me for some unknown reason. But of what, I had no idea. He seemed so cold to me after… after… Oh God.

"Is something wrong, Altair?" I asked quietly.

"Hmm?"

"You seem… annoyed. Is everything alright?"

He put the rag back down into the basin, and I heard the light pop as he uncorked the phial of liquid Malik handed him. The strong smell soon reached my nose, and I jerked when it was spread thinly over my wounds, cold compared to the water, and stinging. The sting however quelled into a cold, numb feeling and then there was no pain at all. I sighed, as he continued his long trek down my injured back. But he didn't answer, and I was too afraid to push him for one.

The silence stretched again, I rolled my neck to soothe the stiff muscles, Adham by my feet lay lengthways on the floor, yawning widely. I must have said or done _something_ wrong, or perhaps it could have been the incident on the boat that annoyed him? But for what reason? Or maybe it was my initial kidnap. If I hadn't been so worried over nothing, I wouldn't have been caught in the first place.

Halfway down my back, the urge to speak became too strong, and I once again voiced my question. "Altair, are you alright?"

"Fine." He bit out, and I shuddered at the coldness in his voice.

Gulping, I swallowed my own tongue, and chose my words carefully. I must not fear, I told myself. I have as much right to question his behaviour as he does mine. For all I have been through, I deserved that much.

"Why do you lie?" I asked carefully. "Surely, something must be wrong for you to speak so coldly."

I frowned when there was once again no reply, only moving hands and the rise and fall of Adham's frame against my legs. Another pop, and the second phial was poured into the bucket of warm water next to me.

"Soak your feet in that." He said, monotoned, leaving my back bare before pulling me to my feet and edging out from behind me. I dropped back onto the bed, the dress falling around my shoulders but I clutched it up.

"Altair-"

"Nothing is wrong with me." He snapped, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands and making his way out of the room.

"Please!" I stood, my arms around myself, holding up the ruined robe. "What have I done to deserve such treatment?"

Eyes hidden under shadow, he looked to the dog still by my legs, to the bucket, then finally to me, but he didn't meet my gaze. "There isn't time for this."

"If there is time for me to soak my beaten feet, there is time for you to talk to me."

"I will only say this once again. Nothing is wrong with me."

"You are a poor liar."

"And _you_ are burden in a situation that is becoming far too difficult for me." He hissed.

I stiffened, "A… _burden_?"

Hidden eyes narrowed along with bow-shaped lips. He folded his arms, and turned his head to the side, indifferent to me, as though the argument was simply… boring him. And that made me angry, I could feel my face heating up before I could control it.

A hand, encased in a gauntlet rose to his face, fingers brushing back his hood to run through his hair, before fixing the white back into place, pulling it so far over his eyes the inside turned black, grim, empty. "You can't simply expect me to carry you this whole way." Once again his voice was monotonous, cold, just like his hood. "And I cannot burden myself or my mission by getting close to you."

"That explains _nothing_." I said pleadingly, my robes slipping down my shoulders once more, I, catching it before it fell too low. "You are cold to me because it is a danger if we get too close? A little late, isn't it?"

God, stop my moving mouth. I couldn't help the stream of thoughts pouring out without my ability to control them.

An irate snarl broke over his lips. "What happened on the boat, I cannot afford to let something like that happen again-"

"Funny, you didn't seem to have any qualms the first time!" I spat, but snapped my hands to stop my defiant mouth before it could say anymore, elbows holding the dress in place. How… how could I _say_ something like that? How dare I be so spiteful! How dare I try to hurt him, after all his sacrifice for me! Me, a foolish woman, a burden on him indeed!

His head snapped to the side, as if I slapped him. I don't think he could stand to look at me after that. He crossed his arms again. Blood froze in my veins, I glanced fearfully to find his eyes, but I couldn't see them under the shadow, cut off from me by the wall of material that separated us.

"Please, I-I d-didn't mean-" I stuttered, but he cut me off.

"There is no time for this." He waved me off, and walked back downstairs, leaving me to simply stand in my bedroom again, not knowing what to do with myself really.

How many more times must I be left like this? I sat down on my bed after a few pensively silent seconds, Adham jerking in surprise when I tugged my feet from under him and put them into the small bucket.

I took a cushion from the bed, held it up to my face, and groaned as loud and as long as I could into the feathers and material, muffling the sound. My lungs soon lost air, blood rushing to my head and pumping until I was dizzy, and I stopped.

But it didn't make me feel any better. And this water was stinging my feet something terrible.

* * *

At first I was angry. Angry, with him for being so cold to me and for leading me on this whole time that he actually, maybe just a little, had some sort of affection for me. I was angry with myself, for turning spiteful and trying to hurt him. I was angry with Malik who insisted we leave Adham back with Fadil, and I had the sneaking suspicion he was quite afraid of my dog. I was angry with Adham, for bounding away when offered fresh meat.

And I was angry with Mundhir, for having the nerve to start this whole mess.

God, where was he? _How_ was he? And _when_ was he coming home?

The ride to Masyaf was long, and hot under the afternoon sun. I changed my dress and sandals, feeling better for wear than what I was, but with a heavy heart and a buzzing mind.

Both Malik and Altair… _commandeered_ a horse driven cart while myself and Al Din hid outside the gates of Jerusalem, and hopped in the back with Malik when the guards changed their afternoon shift. A snap on the reigns from Altair, and the horse took off, the stoic assassin at the helm of this ship of fools.

Al Din was content with the whole ordeal altogether, which struck me as rather odd. The old man in the essence of collected, he rose a long fingered had to his chin in a thoughtful expression when asked about it.

"I suppose you could say the Assassin Master and I are… old friends." He said quietly, fingers stroking his little white moustache, grey eyes far away as if recalling pleasant memories.

"An informant?" Malik asked.

"More like old tea drinking partners." He laughed. "But yes, an informant is one way to put it."

I sensed there was much more to it than that, but I of all people couldn't hope of drawing information out of Diya Al Din. The man, too old and too wise wasn't fooled by anyone, least of all me.

Sitting back as the two chatted, Malik vying for information about his Grand Master's earlier years, I fell into thought as the hills rolled by, jagged cliffs worn down by rain and wind, trees twisted like dancers frozen to the earth. Glancing up at Altair, he sat at the top of the cart, reigns held fast in his hands, his back bent, hood up even in the heat. Guiltily looking away, I played with my shoes, shifting against the rocking wood pressed against my back.

Why did I feel so guilty? I had every right to say what I said after all. But…why did I say it in the first place? Was I angry with Altair for being so cold, and if I was, why did I care so much what he felt anyway? He wasn't my husband, I didn't have to care about him…

But I did. God, I cared more than I could stand.

_He tentatively reached out a hand to me, approaching but I cried out, squashing myself against the wall…_

"_You have __**nothing**__ to apologise for."_

"_I'm so sorry." He said. "I only wanted to protect you."_

But was this protecting me from harm? If it was, it hurt far worse than trying to protect me, surely he would understand that.

It wasn't fair. Why must everything good that comes to me be snatched away as quickly as it arrived? I had a wonderful family before I married Mundhir. I had a beautiful home, and a place to belong before my husband slowly networked in criminal activity. I had a perfectly normal life before Altair _used_ me on one of his missions. I was happy to live out the rest of my days before he… before he…

And I think I hated him then, for making me feel like this, and clutched a hand to my heart, praying for some sort of guidance to help relieve all this tension welling up inside until it feels just about ready to burst open and drag my sanity with it.

_Do what you think is right… _I remember, Johara. I remember.

So I did the only thing that felt right at that moment. I shut my eyes and spoke to God.

* * *

"How many years has it been, Al Din?"

"Two full years, if my sources are correct."

"It is good to see you again, my old friend."

The two men embraced, and I seemed to be the only one who didn't find it odd that Al Mualim, the Master of the Assassins, embraced this frail old man like a long lost friend. The accompanying assassins and guards seemed to brace themselves, or become uncomfortable for those few seconds of two friends meeting once again, but breathed a sigh of relief when it ended.

Sitting behind his desk, he regarded the group before him, entwining his fingers, elbows resting on the stained wood, his one white eye gleaming in the sun, the other under shadow as he peered over his hands.

"So, word has it that Mu'ayyad is much craftier than I thought. No matter, tell me of what you know first, child."

* * *

Dearest Lord, I come to you again asking for guidance.

Please Lord, though I understand I ask much of you, I simply do not know where else to turn. I am at a crossroads, though each one is paved with traps and filled with thistles and winding paths leading me down dangerous routes, I fear there is no good ending one way or the other.

Why do I feel so… hollow now? Yet I am bewildered, because I feel I must say something, but when I open my mouth I find myself at a loss for words.

So much has happened Lord, too much for one woman to take in her lifetime. My husband, I pray that he is safe, I pray he is in your hands. I can't live knowing I will be alone in this world. Through everything that has happened, I cannot be alone.

Why do I feel so sad when I think of him as the man I will be spending the rest of my life with? Why must I be so bitter with every thought of him, so callous?

What has happened to make me hate so much, so suddenly?

I am sorry, Lord, I will try to quell these wicked emotions. And even more of those towards _him_.

I am so sorry Lord, for letting that happen on the boat. I should have… I should have been true to my marriage, and crushed my feelings from the start. I should have stayed away from him, pulled away when his lips were so close to mine…

_So blessedly close…_

Oh Lord, please help me stop. Help me get over this, become stronger for it, destroy the lust aching at me and move on with my life. How dare I lust for a man, a _murderer_.

But I fear it is more than just lust…

Please Lord, I beg of you to help me move on with this, lend me strength to fight my wicked heart. Please protect me from him, from everything that is conspiring against me, give me the courage to stand up and demand my right to stay true to myself.

Please protect Mundhir, for I know something has happened to him, and I pray for his safety. Keep Adham safe, my beautiful ebony hound, who has been my angel from you ever since I first brought him home.

And… And Lord, please, please save Altair…

Thank you.

Amen.

* * *

**_Author's Notes:_** For future reference, that prayer is like a break before the next chapter, which is the continuing conversation with Al Mualim.

Thanks for reading!


	11. The Voice of Reason?

**_Author's Notes:_** OH MAI GAWD!

Yes, I understand your avid hatred towards me after making promises and failing to deliver (Peter Molyneux, no? perhaps I've been playing too many lionhead games...), BUT there is good reason for this, and it's not some god-awful excuse like not having time blah blah blah.

You see, I initially wrote another three chapters including this one, but after reading over them, I really, REALLY didn't like where the story was going in terms of plotline, and it all seemed too flat and too 2-dimensional for my tastes. I was just writing about actions, not emotions, it all felt so robotic, not my style at all. It took me so long to write them I almost felt like giving up, but NO I said to myself, I must keep going! I have fans to stay loyal to! I must not be Nintendo!

So I shall continue on with a better more formed out plotline now, and here is the re-vamped, long awaited chapter 11!!

**_Shameless plugs_** (yes, this get's its own section): I also wrote another M rated fiction called Cocoa for AC, just a oneshot, you can find it in my profile.

For Final Fantasy fans, I've tastefully crossed over X-2 and XII in a fic called Bereft, also in my profile.

Thanks for bearing with me folks! I shall not fail you again!

**_The Voice of Reason?_**

A pause, I could feel eyes on me as I was beckoned forwards. I shifted nervously, twisting my feet in my sandals, curling my fingers in the waistline of my dress as Al Mualim waited patiently for my answer.

"Well, tell me of your situation," he said, peering over his hands.

"Where do I start?"

"Upon entering the castle, the first thing you remember preferably."

I nodded, a hand going to my chin in a thoughtful way I may have picked up from Al Din; "I awoke in an underground cell first. I was… chained to the floor."

Feeling my cheeks flush, I looked to the rest, Al Din staring intently, his brow furrowed, Malik following the same, Altair was glaring at the floor.

"A man entered then. I gathered he was foreign, from his accent, and he started asking me questions about my husband."

"Questions of what kind?"

"Mostly about how my husband came to know of Mu'ayyad, and if he intended to kill him."

The old man sighed, his aged face greying for a few moments, studying the calluses lining his withered fingers. "And what did you say?"

Must I remember so vividly? Funny, how it seemed more brutal, more exaggerated in my head, the cruel laughing faces, the whip morphed into a snake with serrated teeth that tore through my skin with every crack, soldiers removed helmets to reveal skinless, skeleton heads. But I was being foolish. Truly, I just wanted to put it behind me, forget it ever happened, and just move on. But perhaps I was scared, and running away from my problems never helped. What else could I do though?

"I didn't say anything. I didn't know _what_ to say…"

The silence pressed as I seemed to be taking centre stage, my peripheral vision catching sight of Altair craning his head slightly to look at me.

"… And?" He gestured for me to continue, good eye fixing on me with a calculating glance. Fingers tightened.

"He took a cane, and beat me," Surprising, how monotonous my voice had become, and I played with my fingers, feigning indifference even as my expression crumpled. "Then a whip, because he refused to believe me after I explained how I know nothing of my husband's work." I _cringed _when my voice shuddered halfway through.

A deep sigh, and the old man rose from his chair, "I feared as much," he paced, his expression grave. "For how long did this continue?"

I crossed my arms. However long it _did_ take, to me it felt like an eternity. Endless beating pain, and then waking up to myself I could say, realising these people didn't understand by sounding quiet and sincere I would somehow convince them, so I had to scream my answer. And still nothing. Still all whips and chains.

"… _Hours_," I choked. _Forever_…

He nodded, flickering eyes to Altair for a moment, before back to me, "And after that?"

Stiffening for a moment, I took a shuddering breath, before explaining what happened when I woke up after the beating. It was no less difficult than thinking about it, the butter curtains, soft breeze, and terrifying thought of not knowing where I was, only knowledge to my name was that I was sore and the whipping really did happen. And then the man, all too sure and confident in himself, white robes and dark, peppery eyes… Lord, it brings a shiver to my spine just thinking about it.

All through my stuttering explanation, The Master remained impassive, his expression stationary while I spoke, but I stopped myself before I spoke of what Mu'ayyad had said to me, called me "beautiful" and "a flower" and how his all too lascivious stare was burning holes into me, I kept silent. Some things, in the company of two elderly men and two hot tempered assassins, were best left quiet.

And the coin, which particularly piqued Al Mualim's interest.

"So," he said, the lightest of jesting smiles playing over his thin, chapped lips, "it seems we are dealing not so much with a criminal, but a man with an obsession… I was right to give him the gold then…"

"A trap?" Altair finally spoke, his head snapping to look at his master, in what I deemed was disbelief.

Al Mualim waved his hand. "Nothing so trivial. The man is easily swayed by money, but so obsessed he is willing to build armies in order to obtain it. However," and with this, his remaining functioning eye darkened, "he is far too much trouble to be allowed to keep the crate much longer. I do not wish for you to end his life, but, if it comes to that…"

"The French are on his side," Altair said quietly, unfolding his arms. "A connection to The Lion, perhaps?"

"A possibility," he answered, turning to tend to the eagle in the large cage on the right, "and one that should be taken seriously. I highly doubt Mu'ayyad is so far connected he means to bring The Holy Land to its knees, after all, the French and English are on opposing sides, and we are trapped in between. No, it is money he is after, and a security to keep him from the Assassins who once trusted in his information."

"What would you have me do?" A tentative question.

"The only thing that is asked of you for the moment; your mission. Protect the woman at all costs," he paused, his palm out, full of seed for the eagle, which nipped at the grain. "That being said, if she were to, say, gather information from an easily attainable source, you would have no choice but to follow, is that not right, Altair?"

A chuckle then, from Al Din, "And on what sources are you working from?"

"Why, yours of course."

"I thought as much."

The smallest of smiles formed on Altair's lips, but he dared not speak, and I wondered if he was this courteous to Al Mualim only. Perhaps it was fear, for even I sensed something foreboding about the old man, something that almost dared to be crossed, but at the same time warned to stay away. No doubt the man was a killer, but his wisdom and intelligence seemed to both draw people in and push them away all at once. Odd, and no less terrifying, but it was a quiet sort of warning.

He turned to me then, and I shifted awkwardly under his scrutiny, "I am sure, after what has happened, you too would no doubt want to see Mu'ayyad fall."

Not really knowing what to say to this, he took my silence as an agreement and continued, "Would you feel comfortable gathering information from Jerusalem about Mu'ayyad's associations?"

"I already know about Aludra's husband - sorry - Abdul-Matin, and that he is connected through his fish trading."

"You read my mind," Al Din quipped.

"I see," once again, that cold, calculating stare. "Then I'm sure you will not mind if you were used as bait to raid Abdul-Matin's house?"

I felt I wasn't so much being asked as _told_ that was what I had to do. A silent war, between two parts of my brain, one whispering _danger_ and telling me to hide in a corner, and another, louder part of my mind (which has been growing, these past few days) telling me to make sure Mu'ayyad went through the same pain I did. _But where would that get me_, said the whispering, terrified part of me, _surely I do not need to torture someone for my own pleasure?_

__

Like he did to me?

Said the louder part, which was quickly overriding the terrified one.

_Should he not pay for everything that he has done? Should he not be stopped before he has a chance to hurt more people, destroy more lives? Is justice not bittersweet?_

All of them turned to watch my internal battle. I chewed on my lower lip, turning it red, feeling the sweep of Altair's honey-brown eyes rake over my form. _He thinks me too weak, too delicate to do what is asked of me. I have come this far, be dammed if I am going to run any longer._

Altair turned, and opened his mouth to say something, but I quickly cut across him, "I will do it," I said, clenching my fists, determined. "If it will help in any way, then I offer myself as 'bait'."

And of all people, I never expected Al Din to intervene. "Please, Al Mualim, allow me to be the bait."

I stared, shocked at the sudden proclamation, and felt as both assassins also followed suit.

"You know I cannot allow you to do that, Diya." And there, just for a second, a reproachful look quickly hidden by determination.

"Then allow me to help, at least."

"… What would you propose?"

"There is a large delivery going into Abdul-Matin's manse in the morrow, one that I myself must deliver. If she were to hide among the packages, sneak inside and allow passage for Altair inside the house, would that not be better fitting?"

A raised, greying brow crinkled the skin on Al Mualim's forehead. "I take it you can provide the cover for the assassins then?"

"I do not need to," a small smile, fingers playing with the grizzled hair of Al Din's upper lip. "I am sure the surrounding buildings can impart enough ground for your students."

Silence, for some moments, as the old leader paced, back hunched horribly against the sunlight breaking through the windows behind him, the assassin insignia plastered on banners and plaques, proud and righteous.

Whatever way it happened, I wanted to have a part in it, regardless of how I entered or not. Those stains on the floor of the cell I was in, how many more people have been in that position? And will there not be further interrogations held in that awful place? No, I told myself, this must end. It must be stopped, and if I can help in any way, then I will do what is asked of me.

Part of me believed this might actually work.

"Very well." Al Mualim announced finally, the lightest hint of amusement behind his icy stare, and turned to Malik, "You will assist them. Each of you, gather as much information as you can, interrogate his wife, preferably."

Malik straightened up, and bowed. Altair _frowned_.

My mind, oh how it jumped to Aludra and her reaction to being cornered in her own house. As much as I disliked the woman, I would never wish such a thing on her, but before I could contemplate further I too was rounded on, "I appreciate the risk you are taking to help the Creed. Be sure, I will reward you handsomely for this endeavour. Al Din will instruct you, no doubt he knows the workings of the Manse far better than I."

"I will help them."

"Good." A reassured sigh, and he linked his arms behind his back, gaze once again turning cold, and steel, "To the Bureau in Jerusalem, then. Safety and peace to you."

Despite being two very different people, there was something frighteningly similar between Al Din and Al Mualim. While one was bent, his face held the memory of hard, taut muscle and a strong jaw that now supported jowls. Grizzled hair was once a chestnut brown, a stance once proud and straight, now bent and pained. And the other, who's visage was an encyclopaedia of worldly knowledge and humble charisma. Skinny, paler than most, and sickening almost to look at, yet shrewd and cute, he escapes people. They both did, shrewd, escaping the world, humorous to an extent as only old men could be.

"It was good to see you again, Al Mualim."

"And you, my good friend. I do enjoy when you visit, however infrequent."

"I will keep that in mind then, and visit more often."

Malik turned to leave after bowing, and I followed as Al Din held the Master's gaze, an unreadable expression, and also took his leave alongside me. Altair was the last, and I vaguely heard his teacher's last order.

"Protect her, Altair."

* * *

It seemed like mere minutes after we left Masyaf and returned to Jerusalem.

I stole glances at Altair every so often, but he was refusing to look at me on the ride back. Malik now took the reigns, and hummed a tune while half listening to Al Din.

"It should not be too difficult," he explained, to the right of me, pausing when the cart rolled over a large rock and jerked, "Abdul's manse is in one of the richer quarters of Jerusalem. While the outside is dangerous, being so in the open, it leaves the cellars free and that is just where the delivery of nets shall be delivered."

"I should warn you not to speak so freely in the open, old man," Altair said lowly. "It is too dangerous out here."

And while I highly doubted anyone could hear unless they somehow managed to fasten themselves to the underside of the cart, Al Din obediently said no further. Must he be so paranoid all the time?

I suppose I should not have expected Altair to help me down into the hidden Bureau, for he jumped down first and stalked off, while Malik was left behind. He handed Al Din down first, carefully, as the frail old man bit back a cry when his long fingered hand had just about _slipped_ from the assassin's grasp, but was caught by a second, stronger one. The left one; his knife hand. An apologetic look (_but he did not need to apologise for Altair's attitude_) at me before curling an arm about my waist and hoisting me down with him.

Ivy crawled down the walls in sharp angles like spider's legs, sunlight shone through the lattice on the roof, casting diamond patters on the floor. It was a small place, and the bureau leader was a snippy man with a wooden leg and a large, diagonal scar running from his left ear, across his mouth to his neck, which I refrained from recoiling at. Such a painful looking wound.

Myself and Al Din sat outside under the lattice, joined by Altair and Malik a short time later.

"The delivery is tomorrow, in mid-morning," the old man explained. "Five of the traders, including myself, have to make sure every order is filled. We will be helped by two young shop-hands, and I am sure that they will ask no questions when escorting the bait inside."

He winked at me, and I smiled weakly, trying to concentrate on absorbing all the information I could.

"The nets and timber are heavy enough, so it is not likely that they will notice the difference in weight."

"And if they do?" Malik interjected.

"Then I am sure they can be assuaged with a few sheqels," He inclined his head, and both assassin's nodded.

Al Din was risking his small business and money for… for what? For me? Was I truly that important? Or for the Creed, but was that even important to him? And if it was, why?

I wanted to ask, but it was an ill place to be when his help was so valuable in this situation.

But this time, I could do more than just pray everything would turn out for the better. Cards would be dealt with my hands now, and as frightened as I was, I was sure of myself. It would work.

__

It has to work.

"Tell me what _I_ must do."

* * *

If sleeping were a sport, I am sure I could be one of the most talented of them all. When one gets as little rest as me, with as husband as demanding as mine, any sleep, any rest was a welcome, highly anticipated event to be greatly celebrated with soft sheets and linen.

Tonight however, though I was as comfortable as one could be on a few cushions out in the warm, Jerusalem air, my somewhat light sleep was interrupted by the faint murmuring of two white-robed assassins conversing quietly on the wall some distance behind me.

Malik and Altair sacrificed their outer-robes for Al Din to rest on, while the Bureau leader passed me some cushions and a blanket, with a small smile that stretched his scar. He enjoyed my cooking earlier, it seemed, and had warmed up to me somewhat.

The cushions were rather dusty, but large enough for me to rest. The night air was humid outside in the bureau, only barely illuminated by the crackling torch on the far-right wall and the pale crescent moon. Al Din had fallen asleep, my back was to Altair resting on the stone wall, fixing a new belt acquired from the Creed earlier that day. How fared his stomach after the fight with Gareth, I wondered?

Utter silence. We had not spoken since the ride to Masyaf half a day ago. I almost felt sorry for Malik, who struggled to play mediator between our meaningful glares. Only the gentle rasp of Al Din's breathing through his long, hooked nose seemed to shatter the tension every so often.

__

But the tension between us is equal now. I'm through with feeling guilty.

"You could use a drink, Brother," I heard the rustle as Malik situated himself on the wall beside Altair.

"… Is that not unprofessional-?"

"I'm sure you have done worse on _your_ missions, so do not argue." Amusement, in the darker-skinned man's voice, and I could imagine his sly smile and Altair's frustrated twitch.

Sloshing liquid and a satisfied rasp of breath after a long gulp, and the two fell silent for another long time. The belts of Altair's new armour snapped and rattled together as Malik continued to drink.

"… What would _you_ know of my missions, Malik?"

A small chuckle, and a knock as the bottle was discarded by the wall. "You make it too obvious, brother."

"Do not bother hiding cryptic messages in your words, I will only loose interest. If you do not wish to say what you mean, then be silent." Altair sighed.

Malik scoffed, "I _mean_, it may not be obvious for them, but I can see how you steal glances so subtly from under your hood at your woman."

"She is not _my_ woman," Altair hissed, "and how dare you suggest such a thing. I do not have the time to care for another creature."

__

He didn't think **that** when he so suddenly pulled me atop of him on the boat, now did he?

The voice was back, and I refrained from covering my ears in effort to stop myself from thinking such wicked things. I however, (almost with relish) couldn't help but agree with it.

"Not yours?" I could just imagine Malik's brow ascending with his sarcastic tone. A ruffle, as he stepped off the wall, I could feel the vibrations in the grounds as he gently padded nearer. "Perhaps I could have her, then."

My eyes shot open at the remark and heat leapt into my face, the shuffle-_thump_ of his footsteps drawing nearer to me, and I could only stay as still as humanly possible. _What_ was he doing?

"…Such a pretty little thing," He goaded the other assassin quietly, and I prayed that Malik was joking, really. Sure, I thought he was handsome, but… must he be so forward? And while I sleep for that matter? Does no man seem to realise, or simply ignore the fact that _I have a husband?_

Oh… Mundhir… what has become of you I wonder.

"Wait…" So quiet I could barely hear the plea from the wall.

I could feel the heat of Malik's outstretched hand near my right shoulder. His sandaled feet were right behind my back, I had clenched my eyes shut seconds before he bent down towards me, making-believe I was just sleeping. God, please do not let him see me blushing, please make him leave me be.

__

But it would certainly show Altair how easily it could happen

, the voice hissed.

"… Ah, so you do care."

He left, and my breathing slowed to a more normal pace. Was he just doing that to get a reaction from-

"Alright," Altair whispered lower as Malik resumed his position on the wall, and I strained my ears to hear him, "alright, you win brother, I _do_ care for her. But only because it is my charge. I was put in the position as her guard, therefore I must care for her well being."

So… that was all then? It was just his job, was that it? Am I nothing more than paper and ink to him, nothing more than another bloodied blade, another shriek of pain, another-?

"Then you must really _not_ care if I have her then." The darker assassin shrugged.

"Malik, she has a husband-"

"So? 'Tis a shame, to let all that beauty go to waste."

"_No_, Malik!"

"Admit it, Altair," he hissed, lower, "you are not doing this simply for another brand, are you?"

__

… Brand…?

"I was assigned to this!"

"So it is not by choice your eyes so worryingly hold her dear when you think no-one is looking?"

Silence then, before a snap as a belt was pulled on the new armour in irritation. My eyes strayed to a pebble a few feet away, unable to think about what they were saying properly. Was it… was it true? It is just his job, I am nothing more than that to him. But… the boat and… and the night he killed those men, surely he had to feel something then. Why did this have to be so complicated?

Did he really steal glances at me?

"What do you want me to say?" Altair breathed exasperatedly, "That for all the wrongness of my mission, she is more to me that just a brand, is that it? I shall not even _receive_ another mark for this, Malik, you know that full well yourself. So what would you have me say?"

I heard the jostling of the belt as Malik took it from him, "I simply want you to admit it, brother. I know it, but you won't be able to help yourself until you say it out loud."

"Admit…? What is this foolishness? You talk nonsense," He spat.

"You are incorrigible, Altair." Bland, but just as hissingly low as it was before, "This attitude will only hurt the mission, you know this. And now she's gone and offered herself as bait for the very man who is trying to kill her husband! To prove you wrong!"

No… no that wasn't it. I might have been angry, but I am not callous, and I am most certainly not being idiotic enough to put myself in any real danger.

He will… he will protect me, won't he…? It is his charge, after all.

No… I was doing this to help in any way I could. To stop Mu'ayyad. They didn't see that room they held me in, with greasy walls and a bloodstained floor, the didn't have to bear witness to the disgusting mistreatment of women, of _people_. They didn't have to spend precious, precious minutes in that man's cold clutches, such dark, seductive eyes. Surely they thought more highly of me in that respect. I wanted to make sure no one would ever be in that position again, and if there was any way I could help, by God I would take it.

Not for revenge. How dare they, I will prove them wrong.

"You think I agreed with the Grand Master on this? I would much rather lock her in the Creed, if I knew it would make but a tiny difference to her safety-"

"There," Malik whispered triumphantly. "I _knew_ you cared."

"Be _silent_!" Altair growled, "Enough of this foolishness."

The silence after that was long, and so thick with tension it is a wonder how I managed to keep myself from fidgeting or getting up to walk away. So I stayed put, as I am sure both assassins were glaring daggers at each other; or perhaps the ground since both Altair and Malik had a nasty tendency to never look people in the eyes when simply talking. Malik threw the belt back to his fellow brother, and shuffled inside the bureau.

"You… you _wouldn't_, would you, Malik?" And to think, the lightest edge of solicitation was held in that sentence could be heard through the barely audible break on the accentuated _uld_ in _wouldn't_. I winced, having never heard him speak like that.

Black eyes raked over me for the briefest of seconds, the intensity of a gaze honed by years of training. "I never even considered the thought, brother."

So Malik left, a light breeze ruffled my hair pooled out on the cushion I was resting on, causing a shivering ripple in the ivy growing up the wall. Al Din was resting peacefully, turning every so often, and Altair continued quietly adjusting the belt.

More silence then, and a deep sigh from the last remaining brother, before uttering to the night in an almost impossibly defeated tone; "What _is _there to admit?"

My heart sank down further than it has since we left for Jerusalem.

* * *

**_Author's Notes:_** A bit belated, eh wha? :B


End file.
